On a cold winter's night, it is ever so comforting to get into a bed made up with flannel sheets. There is none of that "dash of cold water" feeling one gets when sliding between cotton sheets. It's so easy to snuggle into the flannel that gives back body heat and sleep comes quickly. However, there is one problem. It's best to arrange one's self comfortably before drifting off to the Land of Nod, because that's the way you'll sleep and that's the way you'll wake up. Sleeping on flannel sheets is like sleeping on Velcro. There'll be no tossing and turning. There'll be no turning over, period. This is especially true if one should happen to wear a flannel nightshirt. Much like those asylum canvas straitjackets, once the flannel has you in its grip, you aren't going to move. Put a dog at your back and a cat on your feet and you'll feel like you've been encased in cement, albeit toasty warm cement.
I was awakened this morning by a damp flick on the tip of my nose and a soft whining in my ear. Struggling to turn my head to look at the clock in the dark, I saw it was three a.m. "Oh, you've got to be kidding!" Again, the flick on the nose and the apologetic whine as Bess said she just couldn't wait any longer. If I let her out on her own, I'd just have to get up later to let her back in. There was nothing for it but to get up, pull on a pair of sweatpants and a heavy robe and slippers, get the leash and my lighted cap and head outside into the cold...and I do mean cold. Bess and I double-timed it around the drive. She didn't like it any more than I did and took care of business with record speed. Back in the house, I considered my options. Stay up at this ridiculous hour or try to go back to sleep. Bess had no such choice; she wanted back up on the bed now. My spot was still warm, an invitation too welcome not to accept. Consequently, it was daylight when I again opened my eyes and I missed getting the trash down to the big road. I'd been held captive by those flannel sheets.