Sunday, August 2, 2015

Omg. This is too funny not to blog about. Mr. Wonderful has been sick, so he has been making the bed. I have cowered from the germs in another room temporarily. This morning, as he hacked his way to the breakfast table, shuffling like an old man from the congestive misery and third sleepless night, he said, “You know what? You can take those pillows and shove them!”
I almost lost it. He mumbled something about why he was glad I found his pillow-arranging so funny. 

Even if he were well, he would not have performed this task any differently. I love the way he just left one tucked beside the bed so he could just reach down and put it behind his back to read. 

Men don’t appear to like pillows—at least, not in quantities. Pillows are for show. For engineers like Mr. Wonderful, anything that doesn’t have a function is superfluous and should be avoided, not displayed. I am sure that in our soon-to-be-celebrated 22 years of marriage, he has purchased a minimum of 63 pillows on which to lay his head. I never think about my pillow. I get in bed, put my head down, and I’m gone. He wakes up frequently trying to decide if his neck hurts because the pillow is too soft, too plump, too hard, too
worn. This is way too much energy for yours truly to expend on feckless feather or foam. I have shopping to do.

P.S.  I love Mr. Wonderful to the Blue Moon and back:)