I had a real "Sleeping With The Enemy" moment this morning. Fresh from my encounter with the centipede, I returned to my bedroom - clad in only a towel, I add for dramatic tension and authenticity - and stopped in my tracks.
My bed was immaculately made.
That is a scary concept on its own, but the point is, I have absolutely no memory of having made it before I went to my shower. Clearly this means I either have alzheimers, or an intruder*.
Problem is, I don't know what prospect scares me more! How's that for perspective?!
* I don't believe the centipede made my bed but, then again, I didn't ask him.
1 comment:
wouldnt take long for the centipede thingy to make your bed - it has so many arms/legs (whatever)
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