Reader Favorites – Pillows Multiplying Into A Nuisance

Sep 20, 2011 by

For some reason, the below column is a favorite among readers. So naturally, it’s included in my new book, The Little Black Dress and the SONS of Thunder ~ Recipes on Life and Food.

Yes, that book. The one you have been meaning to purchase and can by simply clicking here. And yes, that was a bit of selfish self-promotion.


Anyway, it was a column I wrote years ago. And unfortunately, as you read it, I can tell you that some things never change. I did not think it possible to find more places for pillows.

I was wrong. Very wrong.

And so, here it is:

The difference between men and boys may well be the price of their toys; but the difference between men and women comes down to pillows.

Why this is, I’m not really sure, but it is becoming more and more apparent to me as our house is becoming inundated with pillows.

Before I continue, let me say for the record – please read this dear Little Black Dress – that the pillows are nice and they do add a touch of class. I won’t say they’re pretty, because a guy  using the terms pretty and pillow in the same sentence should just be an interior designer and be done with it.

However, I just wish they – the pillows – would stop multiplying. Every day I come home and there seems to be another one. I don’t mind the occasional one with cute little sayings, like, “If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother,” or A bad day at (fill in your sport) is better than a good day at work.”

But the problem, at least in our house, is that these pillows are mating, creating pillow children that grow up to adult pillows and pretty soon start having pillows of their own.

To me, and I think moist guys, pillows have two primary purposes. One if for sleeping on. The other is for the occasional pillow fight with the SONS of Thunder. Other than that, pillows just get in the way.

To me the perfect bed has two pillows, one for me and one for her. At last count, I believe we were up to 10 in various sizes and hues. Not only that, but the pillows, with the exception of two, are only there, in my wife’s terms, for show.

Now, why there are show pillows is beyond me. They serve no purpose other than to get me in trouble. Case in point, if I try using one of the show pillows, The Dress is all over me. Secondly, you cannot, I repeat, cannot, sleep on a show pillow.

They are way too puffy. Put your head on one and there is no cushion. Your head ends up at a 90-degree angle to your body. Secondly, show pillows usually have some decorative trimming that is about as comfortable as a rock. A folded up towel is more comfortable.

Taking a nap is impossible, because that involves moving the pillows. I’ve given up, and just take a rest sideways on the bed. My fear is that as the pillows mate they will soon take over the entire bed, and then I’ll have nowhere to lay my head.

The nightly ritual is becoming just that. First, I have to remove all the pillows, and I’d better stack them neatly in the corner. This now takes about seven minutes to accomplish. In the morning, I have the privilege of putting the pillows back. The Dress will laugh at this because in my little rebellious state, I often times forget to put them back.

So instead of hitting the bed, I’ll try for a couch. No such luck as the pillows have migrated downstairs and can now be found on every couch. Again, the problem emerges in that if I want to read, I first have to take off all the pillows just so I can actually lay down on the sofa.

I’ve pretty much given up on the sofas. I still have a nice big easy chair and can lean back and … oops, can’t do that either now. Another series of pillows have taken over and propelled me to the floor from the impact of trying to lean back.

I’m losing any hope of refuge. The only safe place from the pillow attack is my office. Knowing my luck, the pillows are probably reading this and planning their next forage into my inner sanctuary. And what will really be upsetting is they’ll probably match the decor and have decorative trim.

Until next time.

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