Y’all remember when the amazing Katie of Domestiphobia came by and did an Apartment Therapy photoshoot of our beloved Raleigh apartment?
(If you didn’t, CHECK IT OUT. Now. Seriously.)
Well, the biggest embarrassment we listed has now been addressed.
Y’all can go back to your lives. (You’re welcome.)
Because, now, we have nice sheets.
Sheets?
Yes, sheets!
***
Sheets are very important.
You should have a good relationship with your sheets.
Because they know you.
They really know you.
*Creepy giggles*
And yet, we don’t give’em their due.
I certainly didn’t. Which is why I had black sateen sheets.
(I WAS MISUNDERSTOOD AND LONELY. Gah!)
But, kittens.
The lengths we went to get some nice, ungodly expensive sheets were, well, ungodly.
***
It all started at the West Hollywood Restoration Hardware.
I know what you’re thinking.
Cliche!
First World problems!
And you’re right.
But we’d been eyeing these sheets for months and months online, and had told ourselves that we’d get them if we made it out to California. So we sort of had to get them or we’d really have failed ourselves, and we can’t do that, right?
Right.
So, we were ready to drop some serious money for some serious bedding.
We walked in and I assumed we’d be attended to.
Not only were we completely snubbed by the headset-wearing, snobbish poseur-employees, but we couldn’t even figure out where in the hell to find the actual bed sheets.
I mean, I get it. These folks work in a nice place. They have a certain clientele they cater to. And I guess tee shirt-wearing guys like us don’t fit that bill.
But you know what? The pregnant lady who came in 50 minutes after us, who kept demanding to see someone about her immediate need for bath towels in some god-awful baby poo brown, shouldn’t trump the two mo’s desperately trying to politely flag down an associate.
This is where Andy’s no-nonsense New York approach totally won out. After he cornered a newbie (bless her heart) and told her that we were about to walk out, and how that might be bad because she’d probably get a really nice commission, we suddenly got helped!
(Y’all, it was like watching a lion go after a baby gazelle. I was so proud!)
Nearly an hour after the absurdity commenced, we walked down this ridiculously dramatic staircase to the register, past an oddly placed iced tea station where one of the flakes that shrugged us off sat sipping and laughing with two coworkers.
What I really wanted to do was slap the tea out of her hand, scream “THAT SHIT AIN’T REAL ICED TEA!” and sashay away.
But I smiled anyway. Because that biznitch didn’t get the sale.
Now, we both had misgivings about dropping substantial money on sheets.
But we did.
And you know what?
They’re totally worth it.
They’re comfy.
They breathe.
They look nice.
They look adult. (Not that kind of ‘adult.’)
And I’m okay with that.
Because you have to love what surrounds you.
And since our living space has been downsized by nearly 700 square feet, we definitely have to pick and choose wisely what stays and what gets stored.
So, there you have it.
Love your sheets.
Roll around in them.
Give’em some love.
Wait.
Er.
No.
[Yes.]