Some pillow talk

 I've got a soft spot for my pillow. My wife hates it.

I've had it for I'm guessing 20 years. I don't know what's in it, could be dog hair and dead prairie dogs for all I know. It's yellow. Not it's natural color. And it's always damp. I can set it on the railing of the deck in 90 degree weather all afternoon and it'll still be damp. Don't know what's up with that. Not sure I want to know.

Every time my wife changes the pillow case she threatens to throw it away. But she doesn't throw it away because she knows I'm a man who doesn't like change and who gets grumpy when things do change. Mostly she just doesn't want grumpy me grouching around the house.

She told me the other day she almost bought me a new pillow on Amazon but it was too expensive. (As if that's ever stopped her before.)

So the pillow lives on. It supports me and I support it. We have a bro code.

The thing is, when I come to bed late, I find her using MY pillow. I ask her, if it's such an awful, gross pillow, why do you use it every time I'm not here?

She says: "I like it. It smells like you."

Which I guess is a good thing. That scent consists of Old Spice deodorant, Listerene drool, OFF insect spray, and garlic-scented sweat. You can find it in your finer cologne sections. Just ask for: Ode deHaugs.

I laugh scornfully at those pillow commercials. I don't want a Purple pillow, a MyPillow, a TEMPUR pillow or one with magnets or one that supports my neck and is recommended by chiropractors nationwide.

I don't want a lavender scented one. I don't want a down one, a goose feather one, or a cotton one. 

I want the stinky, moldy, wet, yellow-stained pillow that forms to my head perfectly. It's gotten me this far, and I pity the nursing home that won't let me bring it in due to hazardous materials regulations.