So I’m at the gym and my friend tells me she doesn’t have hot water. And I’m offering to have her come to my house to get her shower. But the whole time all I’m thinking is, “I have to go make my bed.”
What’s up with that? Why do we feel compelled to make our bed for the benefit of someone else? I didn’t make it before. But because somebody’s going to see it, now I want to do it. And why? So she’ll see my nicely made bed and think to herself, “Here’s a gal who’s so together she actually cleaned her room, made her bed, all before a workout, and without the first drop of coffee.”
It seems that would be the reason. But she’s a close friend, so she’s been in my car and my kitchen. And every time she comes over, the same magazine is still in the plastic. On top of the unopened mail. She already knows I’m not together. The only thing this bed-making thing is gonna do is confuse her. Or make her wonder if I’ve turned my home into a bed and breakfast and she’s standing in one of the rooms I rent.
But she won’t wonder long. Because every time someone tells me how impressed they are that I made my bed, I immediately confess that the only reason I did it was because they were coming. And that I jammed all the clothes under the bed, kicked the shoes into a closet, and made up the bed with my PJs still in it.
And the irony is, they never believe that. “Nawww …” they say. “Your house always looks so nice. I’m sure you make your bed every day.” Yes, yes I do. Every day that I know someone is coming over and will see it. Otherwise, I can’t say I really care. Sometimes I make it – if I have three minutes. But typically the morning is much more about getting everyone dressed, fed and out the door. Not trying to prop and arrange nine designer pillows and a bolster.
So the doorbell rings and Leslie comes in. I show her to my room and she marvels at how I made my bed. And I tell her I only did it because she was coming. And she says she doesn’t believe that because the room is so clean. And I tell her everything is hiding under the bed and the closet.
Okay, suit yourself. You wanna think I got up, made my bed, cleaned my room and scoured a tub before 8 a.m., knock yourself out. Here’s a fresh towel that’s not really that fresh. I wouldn’t use that razor. And if you open that medicine cabinet everything behind the door will explode into your face.
Enjoy your shower. I’ll be at my desk. Opening mail.