This is where it all happens. The exact spot where the Death Star exploded. Strap in or you’ll find yourself floating home.

It’s late. So late that it’s already dark out. I’m sleepy from sitting in front of the TV for six solid hours under a blankie and shoveling down an entire container of ice cream. Like a zombie I stumble to my feet and stagger towards the bedroom.

“Need… sleep… now…”

No one ever claimed that eloquence is my strong suit.

Finally I reach the doorway and lean against it for support. Must rest. Almost there. Stay on target. Stay on target.

Then I glance at the bed. The covers are completely gone. Nothing but a naked mattress and box springs await. And that’s not exactly the type of naked I had in mind.

Nooooooooooooooooooooo!

Shut up, kid. It’s not like Obi Wan just got bisected with a lightsaber.

“Wha? Where?”

“They got washed. The rebel dryer containing clean bedding will be in range in 15 minutes.”

“But I wanted to sleep now!!!”

Why do sheets have to be clean? For that matter, why do we have to sheets at all?
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