When I return from Wal-Mart, I rush with my sack in hand, heading to his bedroom. I first stop at the laundry room, dragging out one of the ruined sheets, comparing the color. It’s close enough that I think he won’t notice. I’ll have enough time to beg, borrow, and steal the money to purchase the real deal.
I tear into the plastic covering and pull out the new sheets. I didn’t think Wal-Mart carried California king-size, but “whew!”. Glad I was wrong.
In no time, I have the gray sheets fitted on his bed and nicely tucked in the corners. The fabric is much more course than the pricey set. Eh! He’s a dude, he won’t notice. Then it hit me. “Oh geez! The new smell?”
I sniff the fabric. I draw back, my nose wrinkled. “Phew! Wal-Mart scent! I’m screwed! I am so Wal-Mart screwed.”
I run to hi
