My Guy and I were slumming it for a good long while. Really slumming it. You know what I mean.
Yes. We were using his Bachelor Linens.
I think we can all agree that any bedding – sheets, blankets, what have you – purchased and used by an unmarried man are a bit … lacking. Lacking in everything except dog hair.
We have a queen-sized bed, and all of my not-as-slummy bedding is for a full-sized bed. So, we used the pilled sheets and blankets of My Guy’s single past. And, of course, the comforter with a giant hole, courtesy of his dogs. All of this bedding was blue – but varying shades of not-going-together blue. Bachelor blue.
The great thing about getting married is that people give you stuff. And you get to tell them what you’d like. As you might imagine, what we really liked was bedding.
We were thrilled when we received a down comforter, a sheet set, and a duvet cover for our wedding. I carefully washed the duvet and the sheets, and was so thrilled to pull the bed together. We slept like royalty!
For three whole nights!
And on the fourth night? Foxie Doxie peed in the middle of the bed. It was evidently important for him to mark his territory. We were, after all, still getting used to being a 4-dog household.
Funny thing about a down comforter: when you rinse it free of urine in your bathtub at 11 p.m. when you’re really super tired? It turns pink. And you wonder if you’re hallucinating. But the next morning, when you remove the comforter from your shower rod and drape it over the back of your couch because you don’t know what else to do with it? It’s still pink.
So, we could get the comforter cleaned. But we didn’t have the opportunity.
No. Because the day we left the comforter draped over the back of the couch? The labradoodles decided it was a dog bed. They slept on the comforter, and dragged it around the house, and finally ripped a giant hole in it.
The house was filled with goose down.
And yes, we just can’t have nice things.
I gathered down in Ziploc baggies, figuring I’d restuff the comforter. My baggies of down were tinged grey, thanks to black dog hair – a painful reminder.
So, the wounded comforter sat, safety-pinned together, in a locked, dog-proof room. Finally, this weekend, I got out my iron-on patches and my baggies of down and dog hair, and patched the formerly fine linen. But a funny thing happened when I was getting ready to force the comforter back into its plastic packaging for summer storage.
The packaging said “15-year warranty.”
I think you share my “no fucking way” response.
Except I called Bed Bath and Beyond at 10:30 on a Saturday night. And the nice lady agreed that of course, they would replace the comforter. Really? Really!
So yesterday? At the madhouse Fulfill Your Registry You Crazy Bridal Bitches Event? They replaced the comforter!
But … it’s summer, right? So, I also bought a lightweight coverlet that’s not so warm. A lovely coverlet in a pale champagne color.
It was on the bed less than an hour before I found blood on it.
Foxie Doxie had a bloody lip.
Which I did not give him.