Married Blokes, Sheets, and Roaring

One of my lovely Scottish friends, Fiona, commented on my twitter feed. 

I love my life.

Twitter update: Avoiding going to bed because it's laundry day, everyone else is asleep, and trying to put my sheets back on will be a herculean effort.

An explanation:

I know, I know, lazy, but I just can't be bothered. I share a room with two of the most brilliant people in the world and I'm not known to be the most graceful or quiet person in existence. In fact, stealth is so not my middle name. I went to records to try to change it but they laughed in my face and told me it was illegal to incorrectly label one's self with middle names that are the exact opposite of the said persona. Besides, you should see me put sheets on. There's a lot of grunting involved, blood, sweat, and tears besides. It helps that my sheet set is actually larger than my bed, so I've got quite a bit of wiggle room. What you should know: one of the brilliant people I share a room with has this thing for white noise, and more specifically, any soundtracks with water. Ocean sounds. Rain storms. Which wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that the bathroom is a run down a staircase, shuffling through a dark huge room accompanied by strewn about furniture, another trip up steps, navigation through a laundry filled corridor, and then usually a hop over whichever cat happens to be following me at the moment. On normal days. Right now, that bathroom is under construction and the other bathroom is in the master bedroom, in any case, I don't wish to intrude at the very least. Especially since stealth is so not my middle name. 

Well, I finally muster the gravitas needed to go upstairs to put my sheets on (everyone else abed at this hour) and I come up to the ocean track playing. Not a problem, I figure, the sound will cover up my unstealthiness. It did work, for about a minute and a half, until it had me lulled into a false sense of bladder security. Knowing of course that I wouldn't be hitting the wc until the next morning, I rushed across the room to turn off the cd player, tripping over strewn about objects in the process, stepping on a cat's tail in the process, and managed to cut the sound. The result? My two brilliant companions simply turned over in their sleep. Oh, to be a heavy sleeper! In any case, the sheets got put on. Of course, because I was involved malarky had to occur. 

Back to my Scottish friend. Her advice on my feed: 

"If you were a bloke you wouldn't bother with sheets! If you were a married bloke you would roar first. I don't recommend roaring it makes you very unpopular!"

If I was a married bloke all I'd have to do is roar,

M