Pied of Contention

Funny things happen when you live alone. Conversations with untangible beings occur. Dinner miraculously feeds one for several days. Cleanliness standards decrease and naked lounge fests increase. Last night was a new one. Still dressed up from happy hour with friends, got self home by 10:30p (make that happy hours). Pulled tall boot off right foot. Left foot wouldn't budge. My arms literally gave out after waging never-ending war over boot's grasp on my appendage, leaving me dejected on edge of bed, shoulders slumped in defeat while I stared miserably at my handsome brown boot, smugly still in place. At this point, all I thought was “Fuck it.” Tired, with no one around to leverage on the other end and pry it off, nor committed to winning this battle alone I pulled back my sheets -- okay, who am I kidding, they were already pulled back seeing as I live alone and don't have to make my bed. So… not committed to winning this battle alone, I climbed under the pre pulled-back sheets, naked from the waist up and clad in jeans and boot from the waist down. As I shimmy further under the sheets, the textured bottom of my heel keeps catching on the sheet, which normally slides gracefully over my feet, allowing me ease of entry. In this case, the boot continued to wreak havoc on my sleep strategy, requiring I throw any preconceived notions about a restful night's sleep out the window (conveniently already open for fresh air). I woke up at 4:45 to find boot had successfully taken all sheets hostage, wrapping itself in every inch of cloth, which in the end made me thankful for having my jeans on because otherwise I would have transformed into a statue of solid ice during the night. When I rolled out of bed, my foot slid out like it wasn't "no thang". All cool and casual like, as if nothing had happened. If feet could smoke, mine would have had a Marlboro hanging from between its toes.