I’m allowed to sleep in an actual bed tonight! Huzzah.
Carole has been deemed safe to sleep next to once again, with my chances of waking up covered in mucus seen as slim, although there is no guarantee that I will be completely safe.
To celebrate this occasion, this morning before I left for work, I stripped off the germ-encrusted bedding and summarily burnt it in the garden. Well, put it in the wash basket, but I probably should have burnt it. Along with the human sized pile of tissues which Carole had been using for the collection of her fevered secretions.
I don’t know how Carole had slept in that bed for the last few days. It was like something out of Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories – specifically How The Rhinoceros Got It’s Skin – such was the abundance of crumbs throughout the sleeping equipment.
And, of course, the all important cat paws everywhere.
When I’d changed the bed – something which I just bloody love doing – I decided that I couldn’t face changing it again before Christmas so I found an old sheet that we don’t use anymore because it’s not even fitted. I mean who has time to be doing hospital corners – normal sheets might be easier to fold, but there’s something magically easy about popping a fitted sheet over your mattress like you’re putting on a shower cap. Anyway, I threw the sheet over the bed this morning, covering up any and all elements of the bed and protecting them from Peppa’s current mud fetish.
We get home this evening after work and a not as unpleasant as it could have been trip to the supermarket and lo, the sheet is covered in little black paw prints as though Peppa has seen the sheet as a blank canvas on which to paint her masterpiece and then look at us with huge cute eyes so that we won’t tell her off.
The bed is clean. And I’m allowed to sleep in it.
All is right with the world.
Apart from the fact that I might be getting just a tad ill… just in time for Christmas…