Making the Bed

Making the bed shouldn’t be hard,
Unless, like me you’re a mechanical retard.
How many directions can a cover sheet go?
If I study the problem, and go real slow
I’m bound to find the answer, I know.

Still it defeats me finding bottom or top,
I begin to anger, I probably should stop,
But admitting defeat at the hands of a sheet,
Speaks of a spirit far from complete
Not ready for challenges, unable to compete.

Aha! I think I’ve got it right.
Top and bottom, fit real tight.
Oh NO! It’s time to curse and shout
The f#@&ing thing is inside out.

That does it! Oh yes I see
This miserable sheet laughing at me.
It goes too far, I wont take any more.
Its fate is sealed, I’ll even the score.

I could cut it to shreds, hack it in pieces
Or foul it with my puppy’s feces.
No, that’s too easy a fate.
How would Satan retaliate?

Make it into hand-towels for a colony of lepers?
Use it to portage chinese mustard and red hot peppers?
I could of course burn it in hell.
Covered with skunk spray, not a heavenly smell.

But I go to far, I lose my direction
There’s a better way, a different selection
To get the sheet to cover the bed.
I’ll have my wife do it, instead.