Ordinary in the Streets, Dirty in the Sheets
Molly Ono, YH STAFF
Today was the first day of the semester that the temperature dipped below 40 degrees, an indication that winter is nearly upon us. In a moment of reflection at this point of mid-November, I have to confront an undeniable truth: I have not washed my bed sheets yet this semester.
Okay, I know the easiest thing for you to do in this moment is to judge both the laziness and objective grossness of this, but really, when was the last time you washed your sheets? Oh, you did it two weeks ago? Well, I heard washing them actually decreases thread count.
But really, how often do sheets actually have to be washed? The only thing I ever do in bed is sleep (at least at this point in my love life). It’s not like I do my homework in bed, or eat stale Cheez-Its on my bed, or fall asleep reeking of Night Lunch and moist regret after an unsatisfying night at a dark, sweaty basement party where some rando in a Hawaiian shirt asks me what my “deal” is on my bed.
The sheets look and smell perfectly fine, because, just to rub it in, we know no one’s come to get them all sweaty with none-single-person sweat. That is, of course, if you’re not including the stain from my leaky cyst that I had at the beginning of the semester. Besides, the stain is so faded at this point that it’s basically not even there anymore, just like my hygienic discipline.
And really, you could say that decision to not wash my sheets is a benevolent one. I get to revel in my own filth, less water is wasted with my grand total of zero washings, and — because of my obviously voluntary chastity — my soul is saved from eternal damnation. Hear that, Tinder matches? Me: Self-confident, environmentally friendly, and clean in the eyes of the Lord.
