Precisely when I lost control of the marital bed cannot be determined. Like so many things in marriage, a guy wakes up one day and goes “Holy shit! How did this happen?”
One day, I was in Sleepy’s or Snoozy’s or Bob’s Bedding Shack or one of those fucking annoying stores. I had managed to convince my wife that her back problems were probably due to an overly squooshy mattress. Turns out I was right. The bed store gave us a firm mattress. Both our aches and pains disappeared within a week. Thus, the track record concerning all bed-related matters was: THespos: 1, THespos’ Wife: 0. Life was good.
Then came the pillows. First, let’s rewind…
By way of background, I should mention that if left to myself, I would have continued to make use of my standard issue pillow. My mom gave me this pillow in the mid-1970s. If the labels on it are to be believed, it was stolen from a hotel that no longer exists, long before I was born. When I left for college, I, in turn, stole this pillow from my mom and never gave it back. It has been with me ever since. It may be clumpy and have weird stains on it reminiscent of Mikhail Gorbachev’s head, but nobody ever sees that crap anyway because there’s a pillowcase on it.
When I got married, said pillow disappeared. I like to think it went to where the missing socks go - the dryer opened up a portal to a parallel universe and the thing slipped in there, where it’s now being enjoyed by a purple imp with three penises or something. More likely, however, is that my wife absconded with it during the night and buried it in the yard.
Somewhere along the line, there was a trip to Bed Bath and Beyond or Linens & Shit or one of those annoying stores that give me headaches because they always smell like Yankee Candles. We bought a new pillow apiece. Those weird Tempur-pedic jobbies that look like a Barcalounger for your head. The logic went something like this:
“Two of these pillows cost $100. The rest of the pillows in the store cost less than that. Therefore, these must be the best pillows money can buy. Let’s get them.”
I slept on my Tempur-pedic. Life was good. Then, other pillows began to arrive.
[ul]
[li]There is the white pillow. This pillow is a poor facsimile of my standard issue pillow that was kidnapped. I have been told by my wife that I have permission to sleep on this pillow. But I like my Tempur-pedic. Thus, the white pillow goes under the Tempur-pedic. This pillow is useless.[/li][li]There is another white pillow. My wife informs me that this pillow is not a pillow at all, but something called a “sham.” This is a good name for it, mainly because it fools me into thinking it’s the white pillow mentioned above. The only difference between this pillow and the white pillow is this little frilly thing around the edges, which is tough to detect when coming in drunk at 3:30 AM. I am frequently roused from my sleep by my wife screaming at me to NOT SLEEP ON THE GODDAMN SHAM![/li][li]There is another pillow that goes in front of the sham. It is another non-functional pillow. Thankfully, I can tell this one from the others because it is the same color as our bedspread and has this piping around the edges, such that if you fall asleep on it, the piping makes a red mark across your face that won’t disappear until after the important meeting the next day. I have no idea what this pillow is called. For the rest of this post I will call it MFP (for Mother Fu… uh, wait. I mean “NFP” for “Non-Functional Pillow”).[/li][li]There is yet another pillow that goes in front of the NFP. It is white and decorative and smaller than the other pillows. The only functional purpose it serves is as an occasional missile weapon, since it is football sized and perfect for flinging across the room.[/li][li]Believe it or not, there is yet another pillow. This is one of those pregnancy pillows that is shaped like a giant sperm cell. This was a gift from my sister to my wife. It is never used as directed, and it sits between my wife and I during the night, playing the role of the dog we don’t have.[/li][/ul]
When it’s time to sleep, six (count 'em - SIX) of these fucking pillows end up on the floor. Two shams, two NFPs, two decorative pillows. When I get up during the night for a pee, that’s six landmines to dodge. I have tripped many times during the course of the night, most recently almost taking out a very expensive 46" flat panel in the process.
I have discussed it rationally with my wife. I have debated the risks and have pointed out the uselessness of things with no functional purpose. I have taken it as far as to bellow “ENOUGH WITH THE FUCKING PILLOWS ALREADY!!!” at the top of my lungs. Nothing works. I am stuck in this girly bed until one of us dies.
Then there are the bedclothes.
In my bachelor days, life was simple. There was a fitted sheet. During the warmer months, I slept on top of this fitted sheet with a flat sheet on top of me. During the colder months, a comforter was placed on top of the flat sheet.
While I wasn’t paying attention, my wife apparently has snuck in a few extra layers on me. There’s another blanket between the flat sheet and the comforter. Purpose unknown. On top of the bedspread is another gift from my sister. I have no idea what it is, but it looks like a big bed doily. Again - purely decorative.
These things add up. The cumulative effect is like being buried in sand on the beach. I’d like to sleep, but there are 30 lbs. of covers sitting on my chest. I have recurring nightmares about being crushed to death by sacks of concrete being dropped onto me one after the other.
I also have nightmares about the pillows breeding. No shit. The little white decorative ones hump while we’re sleeping. I’m convinced of it. I think they’re establishing a pillow colony downstairs on the sectional sofa, where I’m noticing more useless pillows that my wife forbids me to sleep on. She’s in on the scheme.
Please help me escape the girly bed, before stuffed animals start to appear.
