I remember hearing about the carpet matching the drapes, when I didn't understand what it meant. I’d overheard my older brother talking to a friend of his about his girlfriend, and her carpet didn’t match her drapes, but I had no idea what it meant until an older girl explained it was a way to tell the old money people from the new rich. The old money people used decorators, and the carpet always matched.

When I went to friends’ homes, I looked to see if they were new or old money, but it was confusing. Sometimes there were hardwood floors, so there wasn’t any carpet to match. I guess I was a light on a dimmer switch that was always on half-bright.

When I discovered that I’d been told a fairy tale, I was in bed with Gale. She had light brunette drapes with an almost black carpet. I remember saying, “That’s what that means. Carpet and drapes, Beth had been making fun of me.”

When Gale tried to understand what I’d said, it took a good ten minutes interruption before I was able to restart our … Actually, she ended it there. From then on, I was always looking for evidence about a woman’s decorating skills.

It became an obsession for me. I was always trying to check out the girl’s, um, women’s, decorating skills. Sometimes I discovered they weren’t satisfactory because of their small bikini bottoms. Other times I got a more traditional bedtime check. Unfortunately, not as often as I wanted, though.

In college at UC Davis, I started a club called Carpet and Drapes in my dorm. We kept a spreadsheet with all the girls’ names and looked for reports on their decorating skills. Bonus points for pictures that showed both. We had a few hundred girls’ names, and there were fifteen to twenty other guys that were participating in our survey. Actively participating, at least. Others offered us information as they learned it.

After college, I gradually quit playing those kinds of frat boy games, but I never quite lost my interest in women’s decorating habits.

I was working at Metro Insurance and was supervising about twenty people when I was at our favorite bar when I met Stephanie. Beautiful, I thought. She was funny and intelligent, and I wanted to get to know her. Unfortunately, she was cool-to-cold with me; Steph and her friends were all cool. She was friendly and nice with my friends and the other guys I saw her talk to. But I was different for some reason.

This went on for some time—several months—until I was able to get her alone. When I asked her, she denied it for a while until she said, “Alan, I guess you don’t remember me. I went to Davis too—actually on the women’s floor in the same dorm you lived in—and I heard about your ‘Carpet and Drapes Club. Misogynist much? I hated you and all your friends. It was so, so … um, just so.”

I cringed but replied, “I can explain.” I paused but continued, “Um, well, it may not be a very good explanation, but it's what I have, and it’s how it got started. Can I try at least?”

She just looked at me for a while, then nodded and said, “Okay, give me what you’ve got. I’ll listen."

It took a minute before i could get it out, “It’s embarrassing, but it started when I’d heard my older brother say, um, he’s about seven years older than I am, and he said that about his girlfriend, and I didn’t understand, and I’d been eavesdropping on him talking to a friend. He said something about her carpet that didn’t match her drapes.

"And I didn’t understand. I couldn’t ask him so … So, um, a while later, I asked a girl I knew, and she told me it was because rich people had decorators to fix their houses and poor people didn’t. Um, so rich people had carpets that matched their drapes. I believed her, um, until I was in college, when I learned what it really meant.

"God, was it embarrassing because she didn't? Um, that is, her carpet didn’t match her drapes. Um, it took me ten minutes to explain, and the whole thing ended there. Well, I never forgot, and I became obsessed.”

As I finished, Stephanie burst into laughter and couldn’t quit. God, it was embarrassing me again. Worse this time.

All she could say was, “That’s not true, is it? It can’t be true. Really-trulleo.” and she continued laughing.

I stood there red-faced, nodding like an idiot.

I finally said, "Um, is there any chance—any chance at all—you'll keep it quiet? Private?"

She grinned at me, “You want me to keep it quiet? The best thing I’ve heard since, um, maybe high school? Quiet?” She paused, then continued, “You’ve quit that? You don’t still have a spreadsheet tracking girls’ decorating skills?”

When she quit laughing, she got serious and said, “Okay, yes, I’ll keep it between us. But don’t expect me to ever forget it.” She gave me a kiss, and she shook her head, still grinning.

That broke the ice with Stephanie and her friends. I never heard any jokes about carpet and drapes, so I guess she never shared my story. But their attitude toward me changed completely. They became friendly and open with me.

I started calling Steph to meet at the bar for a drink and then at Coco’s for lunch.  This was a lot more fun than before when Stephanie didn’t like me. Have you noticed that as you like a girl or woman more and more, she gets prettier and more beautiful? That’s what was happening with Stephanie. You just like what you see, and you want to see it more. I was falling in love.

That was what was happening with her. My problem was what she’d thought of me at college; it intimidated me. I hadn’t even kissed her. That lasted until I invited her on a ride into Gold Rush Country to look at the fall foliage. It's also apple country, where there are hundreds of apple ranches just below the pine belt. There are several places that make a huge deal of apple shoppers, with lots of craft dealers selling their wares. I bought a nice belt with a wonderful cowboy buckle, and Steph bought a couple of glazed vases.

From there, we drove, looking for fall color. Finally, we were driving along a creek, where I found a place to pull over and go down to the stream.  I can still picture it: the creek, the oaks and maples that were turning, all that, and Stephanie and me. I can see me kissing her. Our first kiss and all my months of repression were gone in an instant.

At first, I didn’t even realize what I was doing. The kiss transformed into me starting to undress her. I had her blouse unbuttoned, her bra unfastened, and my kisses had moved to her breasts. Glorious!

She was unbuttoning my shirt; she took it off, along with my tee shirt. She was unfastening my belt, and I unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall. There was no question about consent with her. I reverently pulled her panties down at the same time she had me naked. I found the answer to the most important question of my lifetime.

Yes! The carpet matched the drapes!