One.

This morning Randy got up particularly early to go to the dunes for a few days, and I thought it would be nice if I got up to fix a little breakfast and see him off.

"Wouldn't that be nice?" I mumbled, and then I stretched out onto his side of the bed to sleep for another two or six hours. He didn't hear me, he must have gone into the kitchen to eat stale granola out of the box, so he also didn't hear me freak out when I realized I was suddenly lying on the bare mattress. I clambered out from under the blanket to see where the fitted sheet had gone and lo and behold:

Well, what the hell. I just changed the sheets on Monday and I don't know, I'm pretty sure I would have noticed this. By the looks of things here I only had another night or two of the good life before I, too, was forced into this tangled pauper's piñata.

I called Randy back into the room.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Wow," he said. "That's a big hole." A hole? That's not a hole, that's evidence in the state versus Freddy Krueger murder trial. "We may have to get a new sheet."

Oh, you think so? You think we might need a new sheet? Because I'm pretty sure this one's got a few more good years in her. I can tell you one thing, though, we're not throwing any more money at sheets until we throw a little at a solid pair of toe nail clippers.