About a month ago, Derek and I bought a new comforter for our bed. We had spent the previous several months hunting for an inexpensive new one that we both found attractive enough to sleep under every night, which turned out to be about as difficult as agreeing on names for our children.
I once read that a true compromise has been reached when nobody is happy. If this is true, then our new comforter is a perfect compromise. Neither of us really loves it, but it's not nearly as hideous as I found most of his previous suggestions to be, and he doesn't make his You have got to be kidding me face when he sees it like he did with all my other bedding-related suggestions.
There has been an unforeseen problem with this particular comforter, however.
Most nights, Derek and I take turns going in to settle Atticus down after one of his night terrors. It's gotten to the point where he can be calmed relatively quickly, meaning we don't have to fully awaken, which further means we can usually fall back asleep almost immediately after returning to bed.
The majority of the population experiences this kind of not-quite-awake state in the mornings, often before they've had one or two or five cups of coffee. We don't drink coffee in this house; Derek because he doesn't like it, me because it gives me a stomachache. And yes, I do see that as a kind of tragedy.
My point is, you know what I'm talking about when I say not-quite-awake-but-still-not-asleep. I'm not the most cheerful person in that frame of mind (although I've also never accused a loved one of petty theft, nor have I tried to stab anyone when half-awake, Kelli).
This isn't usually a big deal in the middle of the night. I quiet Atticus, return to bed, go back to sleep.
Except now it's: Quiet Atticus, return to bed, engage in surprisingly bloodless battle with the comforter, go back to sleep.
The problem, of course, is ridges.
The new comforter has these stripes, these raised ridges that run horizontally across the width of the material, and for whatever reason, when I'm in the throes of that irrational half-consciousness, those ridges are infuriating. As it turns out, when I pull the blankets over my tired body, all I want is blessed smoothness, not bumps and irregularities and ridges.
To my exhausted diurnal brain, the obvious solution is that the blanket needs to be punished. As it turns out, however, kicking and tearing and twisting a comforter is about as worthwhile as you would think fighting something with the name "comforter" would be.
It's actually a lot like trying to hang up on person while talking on a cell phone. Remember how wonderfully satisfying it was to hang up on a person with a corded phone? You really felt like your displeasure was being communicated when you could slam that receiver onto its base. Now? All you get to do is push a tiny button, and no matter how violently or with what amount of malevolence you push it, you're still just pushing a button.
I'm not really sure what the answer is here. Keep the (smooth, no frills) old comforter tucked under my side of the bed to use at night? Train myself to sleep with only a sheet, aka be freezing cold all night? See a shrink?
I don't know, but I have a sudden urge to buy an old phone at a garage sale just so I can hang up on someone.