All We Are is Sheets in the Wind

It's funny how some mundane things strike a chord while other, more socially significant, things may not.
Yesterday, I needed to paint over the drywall repair that "Paco" did on Tuesday. Unlike "Paco", I wanted to make sure I didn't make a mess, so I went searching for something to use as a drop cloth.
Wifey keeps a stack of rags in the laundry room that includes old towels, worn out sheets, old t-shirts, etc. In her stack of rags, I found what I needed, an old sheet. But it wasn't just an old nondescript white sheet. It was a queen-size, floral print sheet that I remembered sleeping under for many years.
As I unfolded it, my mind raced back to the many times I unfolded it and spread it on our bed. That, in turn, reminded me of all the bedrooms in all the houses we've lived in since that sheet was purchased, probably 20 years ago. I actually felt a little guilty about spreading it on the floor. It seemed disrespectful - like using "Old Glory" for a drop cloth.
I was extra cautious with my painting so that I didn't drip anything on it. When I finished, I folded it neatly and tucked it back in the stack of rags. Rest well, old friend. You've earned it.