It's the start of our winter, if it qualifies as a winter at all. Here in the sub-tropics it never freezes. However, some years we see frost, and it's so pretty glimmering on the slope from our house down to the rainforest. Nothing really stops growing, but the weeds do slow down, and this is the time we grow veggies. Fewer pests, lower temperatures and moderate rainfall make for greater success.
But it's not plants I am here to talk about, it's sheets. Hubby likes flannel, or flannelette sheets, as we Aussies say. However, I am my mother's daughter, and when we're talking bed linen nothing matters but 100% cotton, high thread count, possibly designer. I do not do flannel. It's cloying and fluffy. But hubby does. So I put some on tonight, the bed, I mean, not myself.
It's a measure of my love to him, that even after 20 years of marriage I do stuff for him that I don't really like.
With no idea of my sacrifice, he came in to the bedroom tonight complaining I had snuck off to bed without announcing it to him. As if I would wake him and make him move from a perfectly comfortable lounge to the flannelette-shrouded bed. I had turned down the TV for him…
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