No, it’s not!  Full disclosure.  I DID NOT write the following essay.    I was speaking to my partner-in-crime, the person who helps me clutter your inbox once a month, and bemoaning the fact that I was running out of ideas.  Over the past 12 years, I have succeeded in raising kvetching to an art form, but I was indeed running out of material.  “How can I complain when there’s nothing left to complain about,” I whined, borrowing the title from my second book of essays. I don’t do politics and my family, except for my husband, is off limits.

Appreciating the gravity of my situation, he suggested that it was perhaps time to request robotic assistance.  So, we did.  We asked his A.I. account to provide us with a list of trivial annoyances that one might complain about.  In an instant, the list appeared.

I chose the prickly topic I could most relate to, and we told the machine to create a 700–800-word humorous essay.  In less time than it would take to knock over a cup of coffee, the essay was generated.   I present it to you below.  Since this is the first time I’ve ever used A.I. for anything, I’d love to know what you think.  Unless you conclude that it’s better than I could have done.  Full disclosure: the title is mine!

The Tyranny of the Fitted Sheet

There’s a certain humbling magic to the art of putting on a fitted sheet—a task so deceptively simple that it could qualify as an Olympic event. It’s a domestic rite of passage, one that can reduce even the most competent among us to a sweaty, muttering mess. You’d think the sheet’s elasticized edges would make this a straightforward endeavor. Spoiler alert: they don’t.

First, let’s talk about identifying the corners. This is where the journey into the labyrinth begins. At first glance, the fitted sheet appears to be a manageable rectangle. But as you unfold it, it reveals its true form: a misshapen, elasticized enigma. One corner looks like it’s meant for the bed, while the other three appear to have been designed for a geometry-defying, multi-dimensional mattress from the future. The tiny tag that’s supposed to indicate the bottom corner? It’s either completely missing or located in the least helpful place possible.

Once you’ve convinced yourself you’ve found the right corner (spoiler alert: you haven’t), it’s time to wrangle it onto the mattress. This is where the real battle begins. The first corner might go on smoothly, giving you a false sense of accomplishment. But as you stretch the second corner over the mattress, the first one pops off with the smug elasticity of a rubber band. It’s as if the fitted sheet has a mind of its own and is actively resisting your efforts.

By the time you’ve managed to secure three corners, you realize something isn’t quite right. The sheet is either too loose, sagging in the middle like a hammock, or stretched so tight it threatens to catapult you across the room. You’ve also inadvertently climbed onto the bed at least twice, a maneuver that transforms the act of making the bed into an impromptu gymnastics routine. Who knew contortionist training would come in handy for household chores?

Then there’s the ultimate indignity: the rogue corner. No matter how many times you reposition it, it refuses to stay put. You push, you pull, you curse—but it always finds a way to spring loose, mocking your persistence. It’s at this point that you start to question your life choices. How did it come to this? Why is a piece of fabric winning this battle? Should you just throw a blanket over the mattress and call it a day?

And let’s not forget the moments when you realize, halfway through this ordeal, that the sheet is inside out. The elastic edge is smugly glaring at you, reminding you that you’ll have to start over. It’s a soul-crushing realization, akin to finding out your coffee has gone cold after you’ve microwaved it twice.

But the struggles don’t end there. Even after you’ve successfully tamed the beast and secured the sheet, it’s not always smooth sailing. The fitted sheet’s job, theoretically, is to stay put and provide a snug, wrinkle-free surface for you to sleep on. In reality, it’s more like a rebellious teenager, constantly pushing boundaries. One restless night, and it’s halfway off the mattress, making you question why you even bothered in the first place.

Of course, no discussion of fitted sheet struggles would be complete without addressing the chaos of folding one. The fitted sheet, when removed from the bed, doesn’t fold so much as it collapses into a shapeless blob. You try to fold it neatly, channeling the calm precision of a Zen master, but it always ends up looking like a crumpled mess that’s been through a hurricane. It’s the kind of task that turns you into a philosopher, pondering the futility of order in a chaotic universe.

Despite all of this, there’s a strange sense of victory when you finally conquer the fitted sheet. It’s a triumph of persistence, a testament to the human spirit. You may be sweating, your hair disheveled, and your dignity slightly bruised, but you’ve won. For now, at least. Until the next laundry day.

In a way, the fitted sheet struggle is a metaphor for life. It’s messy, frustrating, and often nonsensical, but it’s also filled with moments of triumph and humor. Sure, it’s just a piece of fabric, but it’s also a reminder that even the smallest challenges can feel insurmountable—and that there’s joy to be found in conquering them, one corner at a time.

So, the next time you find yourself locked in combat with a fitted sheet, take a moment to laugh at the absurdity of it all. After all, if you can survive this battle, you can survive anything. And who knows? Maybe one day, someone will invent a fitted sheet that practically leaps onto the mattress by itself. Until then, we’ll just have to keep wrestling with these elasticized enigmas and sharing our war stories.

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