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At the end of a long day, he reclined in bed beneath a gloriously rumpled pile of sheets and blankets. She walked in the room and eyed him.
�You want to make it?� she asked.
He smiled and lifted up the blankets. �You animal. I thought you were tired.�
�Not make it with me-I meant make the bed.�
�Oh,� he said, lowering the blankets. �Why would I make the bed right before going to sleep in it? That�s like folding your clothes right before putting them on. It�s completely illogical.�
�Don�t you like to sleep in a freshly made bed?�
He shook his head. �I�m philosophically opposed to the whole concept.�
�Why?�
�Because we all have a limited time here on earth, and I won�t spend those precious moments making a bed right before getting in and messing it up. If you take those nightly few minutes of bed-making and add them up over an entire lifetime, the tally is extraordinary. That�s time I could spend getting rich or curing cancer or writing a manifesto of some sort.�
�You�re just lazy.�
He yawned. �Yes, that too.�
�What�s your philosophy about forced abstinence?� she said. �Maybe you�ll get a chance to write a manifesto about that.�
He got up and helped her make the bed.
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