Changing the sheets

I have a confession to make.  I haven’t changed the sheets on my bed since March.

In early March Husband #2 and I were working in our my bedroom, building a new closet, installing trim, painting the walls, just general “fix it up to sell it” stuff.  He started to refer to the room as “Your Bedroom”.  Not “Ours” anymore.  He was sleeping in another room, on the floor, by his choice.  I had the bedroom, and our big bed, to myself.

This will sound strange…but we were still intimate with each other.  Even having sex in our my big bed the night before he left.  The room was clean, the bed had fresh flannel sheets on it, I might as well have blown the big mating signal horn.  Soft sheets fresh out of the dryer were the equivalent of raw oysters, green M&Ms, a bottle of Viagra, and a good wine all rolled into one sweet-smelling collection of fitted cotton corners. Oh, yeah, we had sex on those bad boys…

I know I have to change the sheets.  It’s been 2 1/2 months.  OK, close to 3 months.

But I don’t want to change them.  I know that the subtly scented summer cotton sheets will be fresher and have that newly washed crispness to them.  But I don’t want that.  I know that the new sheets will be clean and smooth and cooler for summer than the flannel sheets that are on the bed now.  But I still don’t want to change them.

The old sheets still have a part of Husband #2 on them.  The smell of his skin, the smell of his shampoo, the smell of his deodorant.  And once I wash the old sheets, the last lingering scent of Husband #2 will be gone forever.  And I struggle with the idea of the new sheet smell replacing the old husband scent.