Holey Sheet!

No, that's not a euphemism for a common expletive. This post is about a LITERAL holey sheet. You might guess who is responsible. For the sheet. You KNOW who's responsible for the title. Me, the self-cracker-upper!

We've had flannel sheets on our bed. They're soft. They're warm in the winter, and also in the summer when Farmer H closes the bedroom door because he goes to bed before I do, and the cool air that comes from those vents chills the bedroom almost to the temperature of the master bathroom. Which has a tile floor, and I'm convinced is the earth's most frigid place.

Anyhoo... the other day, Farmer H announced out of the blue:

"I put new sheets on the bed."

"What are you talking about? Are you washing the sheets?"

"No. I put on those new ones I got at the auction, like I got for The Pony. Because somehow, the sheets on the bed got a HOLE in them. I got my foot caught up in it, and almost fell!"

"What in the Not-Heaven? You mean your toenails, that I've always told you are like talons stabbing me, tore a hole in the sheet?"

"No. No. I didn't tear a hole in it. It just got a hole. And I got my foot stuck."

Well. Doesn't that sound just TOO coincidental? Like a mysterious hole formed, Farmer H's talonous toenails having no hand in it? That man is delusional. Or more likely a giant liar.

Anyhoo... when I went to bed later, I noticed that Farmer H had also put on the top sheet. Something we weren't using with the flannel sheets. Farmer H marches to his own bedtime drummer. 

 

We USED to have my comforter on the bed, but he decided he wanted the quilt my grandma made and gave me as a wedding present. So one day, my comforter disappeared to the hall closet, and we had the quilt. Which was not as warm and cozy as a comforter, especially without a top sheet. AND Farmer H gradually destroyed my precious grandma wedding quilt with his breather hose. Which made that corner of the quilt look like a mouse had been nibbling on it.

Lately we've had a gray blanket on the bed over the brown plaid flannel sheets. I know. I really need to take control of the marital bed. Anyhoo... this was kind of like a cross between flannel and a fleece throw. It worked fine, but Farmer H would say he was too cold, so he stole commandeered the white hospital blanket that my nurse, one of the Alexes, had draped around my shoulders as he wheeled me out to recently-ditch-liberated A-Cad as I was released from my Unfortunate HospitVALzation. Farmer H would spread that blanket only over HIMSELF, since it wasn't a full-size blanket.

Anyhoo... the auction sheets are quite thin. They're smooth enough, but thin. Tan-colored, so we still have our tan/gray color theme. Thing is, Farmer H has a penchant for pulling comforters, quilts, hospital blankets, and sheets up over his head while he sleeps. I guess that's fine when you have your own oxygen supply being pumped into your face. Which I do not. And those bedclothes almost strangle me, while my feet hang out. Because of course Farmer H doesn't tuck in the top sheet at the bottom of the bed. Which is kind of okay with me, because I can't stand to have my feet trapped.

Anyhoo... this new top sheet situation is KILLING ME! It won't stay together with the blanket, so I'm wrestling two items as I try to settle in and get warm. That top sheet wants to wrap around me like a cocoon around that pilot gal in the ALIENS movie, while the gray blanket shuns me like we have reverse magnetic fields.

I'm pretty sure Farmer H is trying to kill me, and make it look like a sleep accident.