“This is it. This is how I die. What a fitting end. Ha! Ugh, no one around to hear that one,” I say aloud.
“Are you stuck in the sheet?” my wife asks as she enters the room.
“These fitted sheets are out to destroy me,” I respond from within the confines of a fitted sheet. The sheet won the battle before it even started. As I lay on the bed with my body inside the elastic deathtrap I seriously reconsider some life choices that have brought me to this point.
“Stand up. I’ll take care of it,” she says.