I was never the child who sat and imagined my wedding dress or bridal bouquet, but I did steal my grandmother’s enormous JC Penney catalog and let my feet turn to pins and needles while I caressed its glossy, cheaply-inked pages. Its size is even more impressive when you consider those thin pages. Even with thin pages, they present pound after pound of page-turning House Porn. I, the faggoty little catalog size-queen, skipped all of the outfits (except maybe the underwear sections) to head right for the bedding, towels and sheets.
Just look at that quilted Matalasse coverlet! 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets? Imagine so many pillows piled on the bed that when I waltz out of the shower, fully moisturized and smelling of vanilla and lavender, I can simply cast aside my plush, oversized, brightly colored bath towel, let it land on the antique braided rug and collapse for a nap amidst the mountains of goose down and shams.
I think duvets are the best invention of all time. Duvets allow me to change the color scheme and mood of the bedroom without buying a new quilt. After only a short wrestle to get the functional blanket inside of the fashionable exterior, I can have sleeping quarters that reflect the tone of the day or night. If I want to sit propped against clouds of cotton and flannel while I admire the day passing by outside of the window, looking as cute as a tween movie character, I can. When a trick soils my precious snuggle companions after being impressed by their appearance, the linens can quickly be switched out for the freshly washed set that was waiting in the wings. If only I owned a house and had a bedding budget, life would be a glamorous, luxury hotel.
I still don’t have an enormous bedding budget, but that’s ok. I have enormous other things and Partner just bought a house! A house for me and my duvets! Wood floors to pad around on with my cute socks, a washer and dryer to launder my thick and plentiful kitchen rags, air space for me to scent with cooking and spices! There will be no white picket fence. There will be mismatched throws tossed on the cheap couch, there will be much jumping on the not-overly-precious bed and there will eventually be a toddler wiping boogers on the carefully chosen wall colors. We’ll probably have to hang a huge rainbow flag outside above the rose bushes and vegetable patch, to make sure we don’t look too straight. And a leather sling dangling in the corner of basement wouldn’t hurt either.
Oh, all the accessories at once! Table clothes, area rugs, curtains and side tables with a child, dressed as I please until it is old enough to choose for itself! Hush your mouth about Western culture’s over-indulgence with privileged space. I know that six families could take shelter under this one roof. I do plan to adopt future kids and use my resources for good, instead of evil. But for this weekend, I shall prance around in the new living room with my chin and Barbies held high, for today we move into the Dream House, where pink ruffles are acceptable on beds and children and where all of the Barbies kiss each other. Barbie’s boobs might still be better than mine, but my kitchen kicks her plastic four-poster canopy in the can.
