We recently went on a road trip, which I will be posting about in a few days. But first I have a gripe to get off my chest.
On our road trip, we rented hotel rooms and a cabin. The hotel room was typical. It sported a couple of middlebrow paintings on the walls, a TV, mini-fridge, desk, chair, and two queen-size beds. And on both queen-size beds was something that was also typical. They each had four pillows.
Who the hell needs four pillows on a bed?
My wife always gets the bed next to the air conditioner. I hate air conditioning, and have bad memories of shivering all night while she snored in comfort. So we’ve worked it out where I always get the bed that’s furthest away from the a/c.
I was exhausted from a long drive, and tried to lay down on my assigned bed. But I couldn’t, because of all the damned pillows that were in the way. So I spread them out on the surface of the bed and tried to lay over the top of them, assuming that this was some sort of decadent luxury that hotels were promoting. But no matter how I arranged those beastly pillows, I couldn’t find a comfortable platform. Instead it felt lumpy, and the pillows contorted my back into stressful positions.
Finally I gave up and pulled three of these torture devices off the bed and dumped them on the floor. But pillows take up a lot of floor space, and can be a dangerous trip hazard. I had to be careful after my post-peripatetic nap, to keep the soft-pawed monsters from grabbing my ankles, sending me to the floor, and perhaps dragging me under the bed. As has happened in some nightmares.
Fortunately, I only had to deal with those pillow monsters for one night. The next day, we arrived at our short-term rental cabin. I figured that now we would be roughing it, away from the inutile annoyances of modern amenities, such as pillows.
But as I stumbled through the front door on dog-tired feet, my visions of austerity were shattered. I was greeted by a main room equipped with a love seat and futon. And on this furniture poised the menacing, square-shaped, puffy forms of a half-dozen scatter cushions.
“Never mind, I’ll just lay on the bed,” I murmured to myself. But in the bedroom, atop our queen-size bed, I was accosted by an artful arrangement of no less than eight fancy, colorful pillows. I stared aghast at those damnable, fluffy gremlins, and they seemed to gaze right back at me, taunting me with muffled, sinister laughter.
They had me over a barrel. My wife, you see, loves pillows. I was taking a chance when I rounded up those feathery imps and 86’d them to the futon in the main room. Would she object? No, thank God. Even she, of the fairer and softer sex, appreciated what a pain-in-the-ass a plethora of pillows presents.