A Great Profusion of Bedding

It has come to my attention--well, I had a thought--that I posess a great profusion of bedding. That's how it came to me "a great profusion of bedding." I see the sheets and duvets and pillowcases arranged in the linen closet, one atop the other on and on and on making it's vivid candycane of an arrangement up to the ceiling. I don't feel euphoria seeing the linens stacked so, flattened as it were, in the keep. But when I see them stretched tight on the bed itself, it makes me so happy. I run my palm lightly over the top duvet, and feel the texture of the quilt folded up at the foot, and I just feel happy. Is it wrong to feel such contentment--nay, more than contentment, a veritable tingle of joy, when I behold my sheets--is it wrong to covet such material things and get such pleasure from them? The real question is, why do I have so much? So many? Some that haven't touched a bed in years. But they are mine.