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.
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