A fluff piece about pillows

"Mom," Sydney said gently, "How old are those pillows?" Hmmm...there's a poser. They came with the couch. I LOVE my couch. It is a velvety-chocolate color that perfectly complements my dachshund's dappled coat. Let's see. Chlo is nine..."Almost a decade," I admitted, startled. Chlo is still as frisky as a puppy, after all. "Don't you think that maybe it's time to buy new couch pillows?" she suggested, waving my worn, flat, faded pillow at me. "They can't be good for Dad's allergies." She had me there.

One should not just willy-nilly run out and buy stuff (Yes...I know that philosophy runs in direct opposition to our current economic system of instant gratification and two-day delivery). I stared at my current cushions for weeks...wavering...pondering...soul searching. After a month of reflective prayer, I made the decision. It was time for new throw pillows. The very thought made me want to throw up.

My local store-of-stuff-I-didn't-need-but-could-never-leave-empty-handed let me down with their limited couch pillow inventory. How hard is it to stock a shade-of-brown pillow? I needed a week to rest and recover after that disappointment.

It was time to go bigger. Beyond my usual fifteen mile radius. After psyching myself up in the parking lot for about twenty minutes, I entered the store. Gripping the cart like a life line, I passed the shoe section and spotted a pair of black flats for fourteen dollars. Delighted, I tossed them in the cart. See? I could do this! I cautiously wheeled my way around the squared-off perimeter of the store, searching for pillows. There! Shaggy. Corduroy. Canvas. Furry. Beige. Caramel. Taupe. Uh-oh. Square. Rectangle. What the hell is this? Octagon? I carefully choose two medium-sized beige pillows and placed them next to my flats. It was definitely time to go. Wheeling away, I soon found myself in the college aisle with another assortment of pillow choices. Starting to hyperventilate,  I switched out my two medium-sized beige pillows for three small tan pillows. On my way to the check-out, I found ANOTHER aisle crammed with cushions. I stuffed my three small tan pillows on the shelf and blindly grabbed Goldilocks' pillows...a Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear sand-colored set. Heart thumping wildly, I was almost to the cashier. Who puts pillows on an endcap by the greeting cards? Abandoning my cart, I ran, empty-handed, out of the store.  

Once my pulse rate returned to normal, I called my husband. "Where are you?" he asked. "I'm in the One-Step-Up-From-Stuff-Mart parking lot," I told him. "I'm in the One-Step-Up-From-Stuff-Mark parking lot, too," he said. Relieved, I leaped out of my truck and raced back towards the store-front. "What are you doing?" his voice questioned in my ear, "Stop." I stopped. "Turn right," he instructed. "Your other right," he corrected me when I immediately turned left. "Walk two rows of cars over," he said. Forget walk. I was running. "I'm to your right...No. Stop. Think about it." I grinned as I saw him walking toward me and skipped happily into his arms. He listened sympathetically to my tale of pil-woe and then offered to take me for lunch when he was done working in about an hour. "Just hang out in your truck, listen to music, and relax," he encouraged, "We don't need new pillows. Our old ones are just fine."

I sat in the truck for awhile, looking forward to lunch but I just couldn't rest easy. We DID need new pillows. I've seen those awful pictures that show the magnified version of the dust mites that live in  cushions. And our mites have had a decade to build up a metropolis in our pillows. It shouldn't be this hard to pick out a stupid pillow. Angry and frustrated at myself, I drove down the length of the parking lot to a clothing store that I knew had home furnishing accessories in the back. No cart this time. No looking left or right...straight to the back. Score. Simple light brown rectangular microfiber pillows. Hypoallergenic. Cue halleluiah choir. I grabbed two and then saw the buy one/get one half off sign. Even better. But wait. I froze in my tracks. My couch has three pillows. Then I saw the medium-sized light brown microfiber hypoallergenic pillow. I was beginning to feel light-headed. Should I lie down? At least I had a pillow. What should I do? Four pillows just seemed too much. The rectangular pillows were perfect (and matched the dachshund). Should I just buy ONE medium-sixed light brown microfiber hypoallergenic pillow? But what about the second one that I'd get for half off? I started to shake. Hugging my two rectangle pillows, I made a run for it. 

Brad was waiting for me as I exploded out the exit doors with my face flushed, perspiring, breathing labored while holding my trophies up over my head triumphantly. I did a victory lap around his van. "What'a-ya think?" I asked, showing him my prize. "Nice," he nodded. "But whata'ya think?"  I repeated, worried that he was failing to understand the significance of this moment. "I think," he said, smiling slowly, "that you need a drink. Let's go to lunch." 

Frustrated, I shook my pillows at him (No...not those pillows).  "They're microfiber," I told him, "and hypoallergenic."  "We didn't need new pillows," he repeated, "Our old ones were fine." "It was for your breathing," I insisted angrily. "Next time, before you buy a new pillow," my NOT-funny husband advised, "you should really sleep on it." I was no longer interested in Brad's breathing. I was now ready to smother him with his new, light brown, hypoallergenic, microfiber pillow. Suffocation would be the reaper cushions for his lack of support and, should the police question my motives, I would simply explain that I was resisting a rest.