My sheets attacked while I was sleeping. I thought we had resolved our difficulties and reached an accord. But, I was wrong. So very, very wrong.
* * *
I like fresh, crisp sheets. That first night you crawl into them? Ahhh, HEAVEN. But even after one day, they’ve started collecting some of the 30,000 to 40,000 flakes of skin that we humans jettison in a day. Shortly thereafter, colonies of dust mites are feasting on you–in absentia. You might think this means I am religious about changing out my bedding because of my love affair with fresh linen. You would be wrong, but I like that you think well of me.
The article references Here’s How Often You Should Really Be Washing Your Sheets. The advice given boils down to a recommendation that you change your sheets once a week. Read it if you don’t believe me:
My reaction? Realistic? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah Heeee…*wipes tear*…“Good one!”
How often do I change my sheets? You may ask yourself.
You (Not the magazine): “What, every two weeks? That’s not too bad.”
You: “Uhh…every three weeks?”
Me: “Keep going…”
You: “You know what, never mind. I really don’t want to know.”
Me: “That is the correct answer!”
Which is what led to the situation where I was wrestling to escape from my bed the other night.
DRAMATIC REENACTMENT OF TAWDRY BEDROOM SCENE:
Picture if you will, my very skeevy sheets crawling with dust mites, wrapping themselves about my body, trying to end me. And go…
Me: (wakes with a yelp) “Hey, what the…”
DM (dust mites): “We need to talk.”
Me: (fumbles for iPhone) “What time is it?”
DM: “It’s time to change things. We want to speak to the management.”
Me: “What? I am the management. What could be so bloody important you have to wake me at oh-dark thirty to chat?”
DM: “It’s the sheets. You need to destroy them. They’ve turned.”
Me: “I thought dust mites loved crawling around in human filth.”
DM: “Yeah, maybe a bit. But even we have our limits. Besides, it’s the sheets who are asking for mercy.”
Sheets: “Please, kill me. I’m afraid of what I may become if this goes on much long…longggg…OH NO! It’s happening… H E L P!!”
The sheets devolve into a primordial life form before my sleep-deprived eyes.
Sheets: “SNARL, SNORT…AROOOOOOOUUUU!”
DM: “Too late. They’ve gone were!”
Me: “Where? Where have they gone? Wait, they’re still here! Hang on…what are you doing?”
DM: “Not ‘WHERE’ as in location, you imbecile, ‘WERE’ as in Werewolf. Or, in this case, Weresheets. You know what, never mind. You deserve your fate.”
Me: “Ack. Help! It’s got me in a head lock!”
The sheets are now fighting me in earnest. They’ve wrapped around my legs like a boa constrictor and are slowly winding up me. A cordon closes around my neck with sliding, oozing insistence. They get tighter and tighter…I’m getting lightheaded…the world fades to black…AND…
I jerk awake, kicking to be free of my death shroud.
“You won’t get me you slimy bastards!” I bellow.
If anybody needs me, I’ll be in the laundry room, using ALL the bleach.
On an unrelated note, I got my Covid vaccine today and immediately fell asleep on the couch after dinner. It’s official. I’m old.