You know what I hate? Making my fucking bed.


Now, understand, I LOVE my bed. I have a king sized tempurpedic with 600 thread count percale sheets.


Okay, no, I’m a liar. It is a king sized tempurpedic. But it’s got sheets from Walmart. After springing for a king sized tempurpedic, I couldn’t really afford good sheets for it, too.


Regardless, I love my bed; I’d spend all day there if I could. Okay, truth, sometimes I do spend all day in it. Only getting up to bring Drama Queen to school and pee occasionally. Working at home rocks.


What I hate about my bed is that, because it is king sized, there is only one possible place I can stick it in my bedroom. Only one spot it fits. That spot is in a corner, against two walls.


So when it comes time to make it, I have to crab crawl all around, sticking blankets and pillows where they belong.  I also have to JAB my poor hand down between the mattress and the wall to shove the blanket down on my side of the bed. I have broken nails this way, people.


And none of this would be a huge deal, if it weren’t for my dog.  See, I spend a good twenty minutes every morning making the effing bed, and the dog spends four seconds throwing the pillows everywhere so he can burrow under the blanket.


No, I’m not fucking kidding. And no, you’re not getting a cute picture of a cute doggie all bundled up under his blankie.  Because the next time he does it, I’m not taking a picture, I’m snapping his neck.