Duvets Rule

‘It’s here’.
My text was short and sweet, and yet it spoke a million words.  I wasn’t sure if Hannah would be as excited as myself or even understand what it was my fingers were trying to relate to her.  But that didn’t matter.  It was here.  It would change my life.  It was my new duvet cover.

You may question why a duvet cover would be such a big deal.  But you see this wasn’t just any ordinary duvet cover.  No, this was a 100% cotton duvet cover.  Or, as it’s known in the industry – an ‘Adult’ duvet cover.
Still not convinced? Fair enough.  But what if I told you the 100% cotton adult duvet cover was merely phase two?  The first phase of course being the purchase of a 13.5 tog goose feather duvet.  Yes, 13.5 tog.  Hardcore.
All this – along with my newly purchased goose feather pillows – would be laid upon my wonderfully comfortable orthopaedic mattress.  Admit it.  You’re salivating.

There I was, working the sheets with a smile on my face inhaling the imaginary cartoon flowers that were floating around my room.  Blue bunny rabbits constantly jumped across my bed as I pushed the duvet inside its luxury new home.  Birds were tweeting their joyful song.  Deer were twitching their ears.  It was every Lenor advert I ever saw when I was a kid.

Okay, it wasn’t really.   But I was excited as I looked down upon my newly finished cotton and feather masterpiece.  Hand on hips, I indulged in the pleasures my purchases were sure to bring me; the soft touch of cotton against my skin.  The warmth of the duvet as it hugs my skin.  The hot naked chicks rubbing each other viciously begging me to have sex with them.   But I decline.  I have things to do. Besides, I have a girlfriend.

The bed looked good.  Real good.  The problem is, the more it looked good, the more the rest of my room looked shit.  Things started to jump out at me.  A chair with a pile of clothes seemed to appear as if from nowhere.  A random sock frequented the floor.  And even my crowbar was starting to look out of place next to my bed.

More and more things were begging to be upgraded.  The purchases that were meant to complete my bedroom, suddenly made it look less complete.  I wanted to do more.  I wanted more comfort.  But I couldn’t work out why.  Why this sudden urge to demand more from my bedroom?  Was I growing up? Turning middle class? I remember the words as I nestled my head into my new pillow and 100% cotton pillow cover.  More specifically it was one word; “Divine”.  Definitely not a word I heard when I was a kid.  But wait, I still don’t shop in Waitrose. Mmmm.

Alternatively it could be that I’m turning into my mum.  Admittedly not the usual path male offspring tend to take – unless your surname is Bates and you own a hotel of course – but a path option no doubt.
I have been suffering from a bad back and migraines.  My hair is of the longer variety.  And I do tend to make friends with a lot of old people.  But, no.  I’ve just realised I cannot bring myself to watch ITV1, and more importantly, Midsomer Murders.  Phew.

Maybe, just maybe, I seek this lifestyle upgrade because I want to.  Because I’m growing up.  Okay, I admit, I think I am growing up.  In fact, just the other day, I bought porridge oats rather than Ready Brek.  It’s only natural I suppose.  I am nearing thirty.  And hey, I’m not ashamed.  I like staying in on Saturday nights.  I like going to pubs without music destroying my ear drums.  I like long walks.  I like getting up early.  I like being sober and there’s no way I can deal with hangovers anymore.  I eat Bran Flakes.  I buy Raspberry Preserve instead of Jam.  I like fluffy pillows.  I sometimes go to bed before 12.

More importantly, I love my bedroom bling.  I love how it looks, I love how it smells, and I love how it feels.
I was no longer confused.  I was happy as I perused my bed.  And, unashamedly, I did what any other person in my position would have done.  I got naked.


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