Last night, I turned out the lights and crawled into bed. And discovered that one of my pillows was missing. I turned to my husband Calvin, a notorious pillow thief who sleeps with as many pillows as he can get his hands on. “Hey, you have one of my pillows.” He mumbled, “Sorry,” and tossed me a pillow. But it wasn’t my pillow.
The problem was that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep using his pillow. It is a loathsome marshmallow-like puffball. But I felt bad about asking for my pillow because I always had the nice pillows and he had the icky ones. But I really wouldn’t be able to sleep without the perfect pillow that molded to my head whose feathers could be arranged for exact support. So I said, “Uh, could I have my pillow. This one is yours.” And then I discovered that my husband likes his pillows and thinks that my pillow is a heinous lump like mashed potatoes.
So I’m going to stop feeling guilty about having the good pillows.
|These look way too poofy.|