It was my husband’s appointed task tonight to change our bedsheets while I was out at church.  He forgot until I came home and asked him if he’d got around to doing it.  Bless him, he made me a cup of tea (two actually) and is now next door making strange scuffling noises as he attempts to sort the bedding. 

I have been working on the premise lately that it’s just wrong he finds it so difficult to do, and it’s simply because he doesn’t have enough practice.  So I’ve delegated the job to him more frequently.  I have faith that eventually this ‘cruel to be kind’ method will bear fruit.

In the meantime I get to enjoy the sounds of tortured struggle that one man and his duvet can generate in their battle to conquer the tyranny of disorderly bed sheets.  (If I thought I’d get away with it I’d take a photo to illustrate the story, but that might be pushing my luck a bit)