They’re really comfortable. I don’t care what anyone says.
I had just put flannel sheets on my bed.
“Flannel sheets?”
“I don’t understand why you’re so surprised about this,” I said.
“Flannel sheets?”
“It’s ten degrees at night, I crack my window open. What do you want me to say? They’re really, really warm.”
“I mean, if you’re going to complain about not meeting women, then—”
“I didn’t even mention really soft. And wait a second Don Juan, what kind of sheets do you have on your bed that are so much more successful than flannel?”
“Cotton. Like a normal person.”
“I hate this conversation. Can we talk about something else?”
“Whatever.”
We looked up at the screens. ESPN was playing highlights from college basketball games. Outside, the snow had finally stopped falling, but had kept most of the Saturday crowds away. The bar was empty. I took out my Blackberry and scrolled through some emails that I had already read five or six times. I it on the table and drank my beer.
“How’s work?” I asked.
“I mean, flannel shirts I can understand,” Sam said.
“Okay fine.”
“Even, and I mean, this is kind of a close call, flannel pajamas.”
“I get it.”
“But flannel sheets?”
“You know, as a matter of fact I dated a girl in college who loved them.”
“Loved them?”
“Yes, she loved my flannel sheets.”
“Where was she from?”
“Come again?”
“Where was this flannel-loving vixen from?”
“I think Colorado.”
“Bullshit.”
“Whatever dude.”
“I have to go take a leak.”
“Fine.”
Sam stood up and went to the bathroom. I picked up my Blackberry and twirled it around. The bartender came over and asked if we needed another round and I said yes. He poured two more beers and left them at our places. I pretended to be looking at something very intently on the screen. Extremely important Saturday-night correspondence.
Sam came back to the bar and noticed the beers.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said.
“Well don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Get into a bad mood.”
“Who’s in a bad mood?”
“You’re raising your voice.”
“I’m not having this conversation anymore. Can we just order some burgers and watch some highlights and talk about something other than my bed linens.”
We ordered two burgers and sat in silence for a few minutes. Sam pulled the bartender over and ordered a side of French fries and two shots of whiskey, which we clinked and drank very quickly. It burned and then stopped burning and we slid the glasses to the bartender, who stood near us and watched some highlights.
“What do you think about flannel sheets, sir?” Sam asked the bartender.
I slumped over on my arms.
“What?” he asked.
“Please just throw him out of the bar,” I said from below the bar.
“Flannel sheets,” Sam said. “Would you use them?”
“Of course,” said the bartender. “I have em on my bed right now. Shit is damn comfortable in the winter.”
I raised my head.
“Thank you,” I said.
