It’s a weeknight at around 11 p.m., and I’m huddled under my bed sheets nearly at the gates of Dreamland when a sound comes from the adjoining bathroom. Jolted from a semi-conscious state, my ears hone in on the creature’s wild ramblings. First a growl, then a couple of sniffs, a stomp or two. Lastly, an overly dramatic sigh followed by these bellowing words: “Erin! Can you PLEASE get all of your hairs out of the sink? They’re so gross!”