Bed Making

For some reason or other, I find a peculiar pleasure in the simple chore of making my bed. Every morning I get up early and read for some time, then go back upstairs to execute the task. It is always more enjoyable when done slightly later in the morning, so that the time allotted to the daily duty conveniently chips into the time which should be spent on the more pressing labors of the day. If the enterprise is to be properly laid to rest, absolute immaculate perfection must be achieved. Everything must be tucked in neatly, with corners folded in the proper naval fashion. In a typical day, I spend about twenty minutes carefully tailoring the bed to near perfection. There are times when fortune smiles down upon me, and my younger siblings demolish my tour de force in their eagerness to jump, frolic, and destroy. After calling them off from their rampages, I feign distress then repeat the task with hidden enthusiasm, taking as much care and applying the same exacting expectations as before. Then of course, even if I am not so fortunate, it still holds that the neatness begins to wear off as the day grows older, and I am inclined to go back to my room to restore the original splendor by tucking in a few loose areas and smoothing out any unbecoming wrinkles.

Inflicting exacting requirements and unbending discipline upon oneself gives such an irresistible feeling of virtue and perfection, and when this sentiment can be achieved through so little real effort and without any puzzled teasing of the ignorant brain or back-breaking physical labor, it is most certainly worth having. It is a pity that so few in the world today see the priceless opportunity that lies within the simple task of bed-making! I ask the reader to recollect the wholesome elation felt when a task is successfully completed after much mental or physical toil.

Why then, do we not pounce on the chance to feel that wholesome pride in our work through only a few minutes spent on a light assignment? To be sure, we do not achieve the satisfaction of the victorious military leader receiving promotions and honors through the simple task which I have described, but that is the beauty of the system. History has shown repeatedly that too much pride of the wrong sort is prone to wreak havoc in the most honest characters. So, you see, there is really no excuse for neglecting the simple task of bed-making.

For what is more enjoyable than cheap perfection? A man may fail his job and lose all desirable possessions, but if he can take pride in at least one of his daily drudges, be it ever so small, he still has something to cling to. A job well done is a nearly unparalleled pleasure, and if it can be bought at so cheap a price—well that is sheer bliss!

Now before I get carried too far by my strong feelings on this subject, I beg the reader not to see my rantings as self-laudatory. My argument in favor of this seemingly controversial practice lies in the simple fact that good habits almost never stand alone, and that if one begins by practicing law and order in one small part of one’s life, the rest will soon fall its proper place. I would be the first to admit that there is nothing morally wrong with leaving the coverlet sprawled in all its natural disorder. As a matter of fact, if for some curious reason you prefer to leave your berth looking like a bird’s nest that came off second-best after a furious tempest, by all means abstain from the addictive liquor of neat habits. However, I must confess that in my opinion such aesthetic tastes are simply not in good taste. No, if one can appear neat and virtuous at so little cost, then by all means, make the bed.