The last thing remaining was the bed sheets. A few down feathers go airborne as you whip the linens off the mattress. Static forces several of the blue fuzzies to stick to your hands and the back of your wrists, and you pick them off one by one with dexterous fingers. You try to toss them on the floor but they curve back and stick to your hands again. You proceed to spend an unreasonable amount of time clearing yourself of your partner’s down while pointlessly muttering curses at Coulomb. Of course you weren’t really upset, just annoyed. There’s no way you could be upset after last night. There’s no way you could be upset, period. You do your best to not let your mind wander, but you only succeed in forgetting what you’re supposed to be doing. The pile of linens on the floor next to you still carried her powerful scent and with it, vivid memories of ecstasy. It’s still a bit surreal to think about…you are in a relationship now, with a talking rainbow pony…that can fly. The more you think about it the more ridiculous it sounds. You bunch up the pile of sheets and carry them to the wash machine—generously supplied by your landlady at no additional cost.