After a full 364 days of consistent bedding neglect, local man Greg M. finally braved the gauntlet of laundry and unleashed his once-a-year tradition of changing his bed sheets. In an event that has become a yearly pilgrimage of dubious hygiene and minimal effort, Greg meticulously stripped his bed of what can only be described as an archaeological wonder of dust, snack crumbs, and lint. Experts estimate his sheets were last cleaned sometime “in the vague vicinity of last winter.”
“Y’know, I really just felt like it was time,” Greg reported, as if he were imparting a major life revelation. “Things were getting a little crusty, and I figured, why not live a little?”
According to eyewitnesses (his dog, primarily), Greg faced the unenviable task with the solemnity of a monk ascending a mountain, muttering phrases like, “I’m basically Martha Stewart now” as he shook off the remnants of his snack-laden lifestyle.
Greg’s Ritual: A Closer Look
The preparation for this rare event was something of an odyssey. Greg reportedly spent several minutes googling “how to wash sheets” and checking the corners for telltale stains, perhaps to assess if his sheets had developed any notable new ecosystems over the past year. Following this rigorous assessment, he selected his finest “emergency back-up” sheets from 2015 and threw them on as if he’d reinvented domestic life itself.
In true ceremonial fashion, he even lit a single, scent-neutral candle — but, as his roommate pointed out, the lingering aroma of cold pizza and half-finished takeout burritos still reigns supreme.
‘New Leaf, Who Dis?’
Friends and family have expressed cautious optimism about Greg’s newfound commitment to hygiene. Some have even speculated he may be on the cusp of a cleaning renaissance. However, Greg has already assured them that next year will, in all likelihood, look “pretty similar.” He was last seen settling into his “freshly” made bed, visibly pleased with his monumental 24-hour contribution to household cleanliness, and expressing an almost spiritual satisfaction with himself.
“Next time,” Greg added, a hint of wistfulness in his tone, “I might even get fancy and do the pillowcases, too.”
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