Perhaps it’s because I was born a poor Southside
Virginia boy with a sandpaper soul, but I never understood the allure of silk
sheets, or silk pajamas (although Claire Huxtable sort of did them right in my
mind for a while), or silk boxers. I understand silk boxers the least of them
all, because why conceal natural nastiness within ornate finery? And that ends
up being where I stand on silk sheets as well, because generally life is a
nasty and somewhat ugly endeavor in which one tends to get stankified. It is
impossible to be clean when slipping into bed, thus the silk is useless. In
addition, hopefully there will be some nastiness in the bed as well, which also
negates any premium qualities of silk sheets. And I would prefer to encourage
nastiness in my life than stifle it for whatever benefit silk offers in sheet
form.
As for being clean when you go to bed, that is
often in my mind the defining distinguishing characteristic between shitty
physical work and lazy (yet also shitty) non-physical work – when do you
shower. If you shower in the morning before work, you are most likely cubicle
livestock. If you shower after work, it is because you are nasty from work, and
probably not comfortable polluting your home environment with the toxins of
construction, so you shower immediately after work. Of course all this assumes
one showers every day they work, which is kind of a privileged assumption in
itself. But fuck, I’m writing words in a secret works file while sitting at a
desk, because I think anybody gives a fuck what my stupid mind thinks through
language. Privileged assumption is sort of my forte. And yet, I still don’t
like silk sheets.
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