Monday 4 April 2011

My bed sheet is possessed.

As if life wasn't hard enough, with caterpillars in the bathroom, ghosts on the stairs, no spoons, no money and a love life that largely resembles a board game, it now appears I have a possessed bed sheet.

The bed sheet in question, isn't actually mine. It was lent to me on a permanent basis by my house mate.

I say house mate, she is actually the head of our household. She is our illustrious leader who must be obeyed.
Feeling the instigation of some kind of pecking order, my other house mates and I, all vied for the post of second in command. She reviewed our applications for the job and, after some careful deliberation, bought a cat and gave the position to him.

The cat now rules us with a rod of iron fists. he makes us open doors and windows and fetch kitty treats from the kitchen. If we don't do his bidding, he tells his master and she then makes us stand on our head in the bath until we drown. We have lost many a house mate like this.
I myself, have drowned several times since living here.

I have even tried to lead a rebellion! Several times I have left the cat around the neighbours house with a note around his neck saying "Adopt me!" but they keep sending him back.
With a note saying "No."

Last week I put a tin of Whiskers on the far side of the busy main road outside the front of our house, to coax him into the traffic. But he wouldn't cross.

Only yesterday, during his daily "sit on a box" exercise routine, I tried to push him down the stairs. My house mates stopped me, fearing the repercussions from the great one. Too many house mates have lost their lives from bath drownings lately.

Sad sad business. What was I talking about? Ah yes, this bed sheet.

It is a cunning device with elasticated corners which allow it to grip the mattress. Saves all that "tucking in" nonsense. It should be easier to make fit than an epileptic in a disco.

It, however, isn't.

Being human, or at least having a passing resemblance, I only have two hands. A mattress has four corners. Don't just take my word for it, go and look at your one now.
This means that, at best, I can only fit half the bed sheet at a time. I then have to stretch the other half over the mattress before the first half pings off like a cheap pair of C&A knickers and shoots across the room like some kind of intercontinental bed sheet missile.

Just the other day I was making my bed with the window open. My bed sheet shot out of the window, decapitated the postman, crashed into a Ryanair flight ended up in the fast lane of the M23.

When I do finally tame the bed sheet and get into bed, I generally sleep like a log. I really tired one. But it is at this point that strange things start to happen.

Despite the fact that I lie perfectly still when I am in bed, as any of my former lovers will testify, my bed sheet moves around on its own.

My bed sheet tries to kill me in my sleep.

First the corners unhook and then it wraps itself around me until I look like some kind of sausage roll. Except with me instead of a sausage. And a bed sheet instead of the roll bit. A sort of "Me bed sheet". That doesn't really make any sense, does it. What did you mention sausage rolls for, anyway? We was going fine before you said that. This isn't a bloody buffet you know.

The bed sheet wraps itself around me whilst I sleep and tries to smother me. Fortunately, I always wake up in time before it finally chokes me to death.

I only realised it was trying to kill me recently. Now it knows that I have worked out its devilish plan, I think it is going to up its game. I spot it giving me evil looks when I get dressed in the morning.

I am so scared, I might start sleeping on the sofa.

Why do all these things try to get me? My life is so difficult.


Think about that if your having a bad day.

At least your bed sheet isn't trying to kill you.

***All the crap you see written here is Kelvin's opinion and not that of his associates, race team or marketing partners.***


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