Starting the New Year as a Plucked Duck

This post is not about what you might imagine, given the title.

Thinking of starting the New Year with clean bedding, and being mindful of the single digit temperatures predicted for the first week of January, I made the mistake of removing the duvet cover from my big goose down comforter and sending it to the wash.  I bought the comforter some years ago and only used it during the ‘polar vortex’ of a few winters ago.  It’s been in storage ever since.  While probably not really dirty, I was on a roll to start the New Year fresh and clean.

So here I am, now, most of the day gone, covered in feathers and sweat, confounded by the impossibility of getting the cover back on.

I am 5 feet tall.  My arms, from armpit to fingertips, are not 2 feet long.  The duvet and cover are 109 by 60 inches.  The math doesn’t work.

So I consult the Google and there are videos of “How to Put on a Duvet Cover!”  I’m saved!

Or so I thought.  I was seduced right away by the obvious and swift simplicity of the ‘California Roll’ method: lay the cover, inside out on the bed, lay the duvet on top, roll them up together. Stuff one end of the roll into the corner of the cover, followed by the rest of the roll. Button up the open sides of the cover and roll the whole thing out, all right-side out and flat. Easy peasy.

Not.

I don’t know if my hands are too small, the comforter too bulky, my conceptual acumen and mechanical smarts on the fritz or what, but in practice it neither made sense, nor could I make it work.  So, two full hours of stuffing and flapping, un-stuffing and re-stuffing, flapping some more and even crawling inside the cover to push and bash the fluff into the corners, I finally achieved some semblance of completion.

I have no doubt I will be warm and toasty, so there is at least that satisfaction.  But I’m feeling completely frustrated and incompetent, here at the end of a year in which there has been more frustration and incompetence to deal with than I can ever remember (you know what I mean).

Plus, I’m left with a sweater I probably can never again wear in polite company unless I’m going to a costume party as a half-plucked duck.

Happy New Year, All!

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