When I was in my twenties—writing for a trade magazine and contemplating art school—I had my astrological chart done by a beautiful woman living in Lake Taho. This friend of my mother's was both a professional painter and an intuitive astrologer. Her reading was so on the mark (and I have it recorded so I know it well) that I listened carefully and seriously to everything she said several times. One phrase in particular remains in my head: "You could design anything, really anything, say...fabrics. Linens. Sheets."

Fabrics? Sheets? I was fooling around with graphic design at the magazine, and I'd taken some adult ed courses in interior design. I knew I loved design and I'd been sewing fabrics into clothes, pillows, totes and doll clothes for almost as long as I'd been reading and writing. But designing fabrics? Linens? This didn't ring any bells at the time.

Yet these oh-so-many years later, I've become very opinionated on all fabrics concerned with sleep.  Who would have thought it? I'm very serious about what I want around me at night. I want nightwear that's cotton and calm, whites and pastels, in simple comfortable but classic designs. And I want the same from my sheets. Cotton, simple, white, or a gentle pattern, classy, calming, inviting sleep. The more complex my days, the simpler I want my nights.

I don't present in any of the major market shares pajama designers design for. The red satin teddy is not for me. Nor are the plaid cotton drawstring capris with coordinating logo-plastered camisole. And I'm still several years away, I hope, from the ultra-pastel poly/cotton tent gown. So when I found myself recently in Old Navy buying some boxers for my son, I decided, why not pick up a pair for myself? Partnered with a white V-neck T-shirt, or ribbed sleeveless Jockey undershirt, I'd be back in business with a simple, cotton sleep outfit. To my surprise (it is summer) the pair that attracted my attention was a deep sea blue with white crabs on it! Crabs, on my pants. [Better yet, crabs on guys' pants. Is this pattern a big seller?] I stared at those boxers for several minutes. I wanted them. I wanted them for pajamas. But they weren't plain or simple. When I got home, could I slide into sleep between my sheets accompanied by those crabs?

I could. I did. I liked my boxers, very much. I've crossed into a new sleep arena, I thought, one that's wider, open, free. Absent of prejudice. A place where I could live in harmony with pajamas, and maybe even sheets, of all patterns and colors.

I was wrong.

The week had gone well. We'd rented a house at the beach, a lovely house. I'd brought blue and green and white striped sheets for our bed, sheets I'd purchased for home, decided were too loud, and hadn't used in a couple years. But here, in a conveniently blue master bed room, away from home, I was liking them.  On Saturday, we packed up and headed for one last night at the beach, courtesy of my sister-in-law's new beach house. We'd had an incredibly full week, lots of visitors and lots of activities. Her house was no different. Summer, family and friends were in full swing. When I headed up to bed in her son's room after a late dinner, I was exhausted, craving peace, quiet, sleep. I didn't think anything could stop me from getting some much needed rest.

Until I saw the sheets.

Blue and white stripes covered with parades of little red lobsters. (Perhaps I should mention that my father hailed from Maine. When I was young, I couldn't wait for him to come home from a visit with a styrofoam cooler of fresh lobster for dinner, but by the time I was a teen embracing vegetarianism, even the thought of dropping helpless greenish lobsters into a pot where they'd make some death scratches and scrambles and then come out bright red turned my stomach.) One look at these crustacean-infested sheets and I know for certain that people can't be as literal about their sheets as I am. If they were, sheets like this would never get made.

The pillow cases are missing. I mention this to my sister-in-law, put on my white cotton pajamas, and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I return to pillowcases with darker blue stripes — clearly the same designer (I suspect Tommy Hilfiger) but not matching. No lobsters march on these pillowcases, perhaps into some beach vacationer's blissful, butter-filled culinary dreams. No, these pillowcases are covered with schools of little pointy-finned gray and brown sharks, basically every beach vacationer's ultimate nightmare!

I don't want to admit how long it took me to go to sleep that night. My husband didn't have any trouble. And yes, my difficulty may have had something to do with all the activity in the house, the laughter, the television, the energetic footfalls up and down the bare wood stairs. But even now, the thought of all those parading little red lobsters and synchronized miniature gray and brown sharks makes me want to run for cover...the cover of simple white sheets.