Folks, here’s the deal. I have eight pillows on my bed. I need every single one of them. Eight pillows. No more, no less. Except maybe more. I’m honestly always down for more.
On typical normy beds, as they’re known in my apartment, I’ve seen anywhere from two to four pillows. Sometimes five, if there’s an accent pillow. This is just not enough.
Sometimes normies come into my house and say, “Caitie, that’s, like, a lot of pillows.”
Listen. The average human sleeps through a third of his or her life. That’s just a fact. Look it up if you don’t believe me. In light of this, why would I say no to indulgence? Why would I deny myself comfort? Maybe you prefer a clean-line, prison-style approach to your daily rest. It’s my duty as your fellow unconscious-one-third-of-the time human to tell you that you are wrong. Having eight pillows on a full-size bed is the fastest route to pure luxury.
A good pillow at a big-box store costs anywhere from four to fourteen dollars. So, for the extremely low price of thirty-two dollars, you, too, could have eight pillows. You, too, could be transformed.
When I’m lying in bed, surrounded by a freshly laundered pile of plushy support, I feel like a little prince. As I drift off for an afternoon nap, I can almost hear my servant, Godfrey, fixing my snack of toast and jam in the kitchen.
A myth about pillows I can bust right now: they’re not just for sleeping. Oh, no. They’re good for so much more. They make great armrests. They make great food trays. Ever wish you had one of those old-people beds you see on The Price Is Right? You can pretty much make your own by putting four pillows against your back and the other four under your knees. Ever get wasted and panic about choking on your own vomit in a drunken coma? Just pile up six pillows and nestle your precious noggin on top. It’ll be like an edgy modern retelling of “The Princess and the Pea.”
Yes: pillows will save your life.
Sometimes normies say to me, “Caitie, you give names to your pillows? That’s kinda psycho.”
They don’t get it. They wouldn’t say that if they really knew Huggy like I do. Huggy is really good for hugging. Maybe they’d keep their comments to themselves if they had ever even once said hello to Lappy, who was brought down to this green earth to keep me from burning my legs with my overheating laptop. It’s like… watch your mouth.
But you know what? I’m used to it. I’ve been dealing with pillow deniers for as long as I can remember. I distinctly remember my pure disgust when a fourth-grade classmate told me she’d given up her pillow for Lent. Let me say that again. This girl slept without a single pillow under her head for six weeks. Giving up candy? Sure. Promising to stop using swear words? Makes sense. But the idea of going without a pillow truly pushed me over the edge. Jesus didn’t die for a nine-year-old to instill lifelong neck problems in His name. He just didn’t. Plus, isn’t heaven just, like, an enormous pile of fluffy pillows floating in the sky? God’s into it! He loves pillows! Join the club!
It was during this period that I became a staunch believer in giving yourself comfort where comfort is due. I’m not into less-is-more. I’m not into that hospital-room-chic or all-metallic-everything or magazine-ad-for-a-sleek-new-kitchen-faucet modern crap.
Give me an avalanche of pillows and watch me thrive.
We shouldn’t deny ourselves the easiest of pleasures. Life is hard enough. Just go to the store with thirty-two bucks and report back. And if you ever want to meet my pillows—respectfully—come on over. After I make sure it’s cool with them.