Some nights I can’t sleep. After I stop counting sheep, calculating how many more hours of sleep I could get if I fell asleep immediately, and consider getting up to read (which I don’t because I’m too tired), I start pondering the important questions of life.

Not questions like, “If you weren’t scared, what would you do?” (I would ride a crocodile) or “What is the meaning of life?” (Hot fudge brownie sundaes). I mean questions like:

• Who determined the size of a toilet-paper square? When did it become universal?
• Why is there nothing to eat in my kitchen?
• When did hotels stop using bedspreads, opting instead for the 2-foot wide table runner draped across the bed?

(Why is this a thing?)

• Why do I get black gunk in the corner of my eyes?
• How can I tell if anti-aging cream is working?
• Why are there so many keys on a keyboard?
• Is it really possible to tip a cow?
• Who ate the last Oreo?
• Why are the showers in hotel bathrooms placed at a height of 5 feet?
• Why do people keep trying to make me eat guacamole?

(This is about as unappetizing as you can get.)

• Is it possible that Victoria’s Secret is that she’s afraid of being fully clothed?
• What should I be when I grow up?
• What would my gangsta name be?
• Is there really nothing to eat in this house?
• Why does hockey/basketball season last so long?

About the time my questions turn into, “Why does blue feel like a chocolate donut?” or “If I had a pet genie would it taste like chicken?”, I realize I’m finally drifting off to sleep. Pleasant dreams.