September  26, 2016 - The fashion police are not interested.

          I have air-conditioning in the bedroom and sometimes the temperature dips a little at night and my shoulders get cold and then ache in the morning.

          It’s late, I am tired and I pull on pajama bottoms that have navy blue flowers on a cream background – the top that matches doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight . . . . HMMMM . . . .I snag an ultra-soft, long sleeve top that is striped navy blue and cream and pop it on. 

          I look in the mirror thinking . . .  “You are so vain – you even care what you look like when you go to bed?  You are dead tired – you need sleep – what is with you?” 

I still stare in the mirror and break out into a big smile at myself, slowly shake my head in disapproval as I think, “OH, stripes and flowers – this is a new fashion statement . . . are the fashionista police going to come get me in my sleep?  HMMMMM . . . I scrutinize my reflection . . . they ARE the same exact shade of cream and navy – how interesting.  Maybe I’m ahead of the trend – stripes with flowers for next year’s catwalk collection coming to you from . . .”

I shut out the light, crawl between the covers, and say out loud to the world, “And who is going to see me in the dark?”

          Lying there in the dark I envision myself coming down a Paris fashion runway with a navy flowered Kimono robe trimmed in navy stripes on a cream back ground. Coming to the end of the runway, I open the robe, reveal a striped top and flowered bottom pajama ensemble, pivot at the end of the runway – after all paparazzi flash their cameras - and trail the robe behind me as I strut to the beginning of the runway and duck through the gauzy curtains.  I think, ‘Boy, I have a great imagination.’  I turn over, but being this tired, sleep won’t come.

          Next I think, what if the house catches fire and I have to run out and watch the firemen put out the blaze?  The local newspaper never misses a chance at a top fold house fire on the front page.  I can picture it now:  A HUGE, clear photo of me in the foreground of our burning house in my un-matched pajamas clutching my frightened calico cat, Jasmine, and my husband holding onto our dog Jack who has wrapped us together at the ankles with his extra-long leash.  AND a snappy little caption . . . mismatched pajama clad resident looks on as her house goes up in flames at 4:30 a.m. this morning . . .

       Who am I, Walter Mitty?   I turn over again; flip the pillow to the cool side and this time think about my re-occurring dream.   Someday I may be so sick that I won’t be able to right a grievous wrong. 

I will be at the mercy of someone who doesn’t know the proper etiquette of making a bed with floral sheets.  They will inadvertently turn the two sheets the wrong way so that when you open the bed to climb in you will have the “back of the canvas” of the beautiful print instead of the picturesque front.  I will be devastated . . .

Fast forward to the next morning.

Dead tired from lack of sleep, I stumble to get my coffee the next morning. As I put cream and sugar in my coffee and stir it I re-lecture my husband for maybe the twentieth time in our marriage:  “I had that nightmare again, where the flowered sheets aren’t on the bed the right way and I can’t fix them.  You do understand – the bottom sheet – the flowers are face up and the top sheet the flowers are face down so that when you open up the bed you get all the flowers showing.  You are in essence “enveloped” in flowers when you sleep.”  I tell him so he will take care of this important detail if it ever comes up.

“Ah-yeah,” he agrees with a quizzical look on his face and goes back to reading the paper.