Creature Comforts

I can’t pinpoint when creature comforts became important to me:  maybe it was some time after I stopped teaching…or maybe after my divorce.  I was married to a man–no that’s not it; it had nothing to do with him, preceded him by many years.  In fact, that’s probably why he felt safe enough to approach me.  I had a very good job as Senior Writer at the Cdn Dental Association and lived in a decent townhouse in Manor Park in Ottawa which was as ascetic as a monastery:  few pictures, no plants (I was the serial killer of houseplants at that time, wanted in ten states), few knick-knacks, and home only when it was bedtime.  Working was my god and the workplace was heaven.  No need of anything extraneous, superfluous, extravagant:  I had a good car and relatively nice clothes (I wore a size six then so I looked good in pretty much anything).  Creature comforts depend on who you are–but more importantly, where you live on the planet, what you’re used to, what the culture you’re born into thinks is important, and, as a luxury, what you can afford (or for some people, what you think you can afford).  I have a cousin who spends more money on the quality of the sheets on his bed than I do on the mortgage.  He has to, simply has to, sleep in a bed sublimely comfortable and cushy, no expense spared, money no object.  I did once have a down-filled duvet custom-made only to find it excessively heavy and impossible to maneuver easily into place, waking in the wee hours sweating from dragging this thing hither and thither.  It’s long gone now…  

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