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That Sheet Secret
We’ve inherited a house in the south of France. I use the term loosely ‘we’; its not mine nor will it ever be mine according to French Napoleonic code and articles in the deed that insist the house must stay in the family for
eternity. Alors, ‘we’ have this Seahouse, did I mention that its 500m from the Mediterranean and now, not surprisingly, we have many friends and family that have come out of the woodwork. So much so, that I had to buy a chalkboard to keep track of booking our guestrooms! I’m not complaining, its wonderful, except the taxes, the skyrocketing electric bills, additional yard work which involves me and chainsaws and a lot more square footage to “ménager” for this neurotic clean freak.
One thing that really is typically French and makes my life as a ‘femme au foyer’ (French housewife) easy. Guests bring their own SHEETS! At first, when my husband told me this, I was shocked and said, “no that’s impossible why would your friends bring their own ‘draps’?” But they do! This is such a blessing since the French also spend an inordinate amount of time washing sheets, hanging them to line dry, and then fanatically ironing them into perfect crisp squares. I take it one step further and bundle the matching sets with ribbon, but I am a perfectionist as thus allowed into French femme au foyer-ism with accepting nods from my in laws.
We recently went to stay at a friend’s



