And Then I Made Him Cry & The Universe Thanked Me.

The Pilot, who I should mention off the top of my head is someone that I love dearly and truly wish to have his Guido babies even though he isn't really a Guido but more of a Frenchman so I'm basically saying I want to his have Froglet's, has this thing with his pillow. It's an odd thing, with his pillow, that I'm not sure I fully understand.

You see, his pillow is an old and I would like to call it stinky but I haven't actually found it to be stinky and  I can only assume that it's because when The Pilot sweats he sweats delicious smells but I'm probably just mistaking his sweat for Fabreeze or something and this pillow is flat and gross looking and he demands that he cannot sleep without it because it's his lifeline and his very, very, bestest pillow friend in the world and he'd just die without it. He's also had this pillow since he was a toddler and despite the fact that he asserts a "wizard gave this to me as a gift upon my birth" it's just a ratty pillow long past it's time and I hate the thing with all my heart.

Because it's gross.

And it touches my pillows. All five of them. That I sleep with. Because I like making a Captains Chair out of them so I can feel as if a space ship flies me away in my sleep.

This pillow happens to be one of the only problems that plagues my golden relationship because I'm in the position where that pillow is almost 30 years old and I'm pretty sure it doesn't have fluff in it anymore but just ten pounds of human skin dandruff that attracts bed mites that then have sex on his face while he sleeps and I can't kiss someone who's face has been sexed up by bed mites. He's in the position that this pillow his is only reason for living and that without it he'd be a broken husk of a man and if I ever did anything to it he'd probably break up with me and take the dog with him. Or something like that, I usually tune out when he goes into his pillow hysterics.

Naturally, because of his attachment I've taken a stance that I'll go above and beyond the call of duty to hide this pillow and attempt that he'd never find it and be forced to buy a new one. So far it hasn't worked and as he'd claim he's spent several hundred nights of being tortured because his pillow has gone missing.

Last night, I came close to throwing it off the Balcony of our apartment and if it wasn't for the fact that The Pilot threatened to break-up with me, take the dog and never tickle my back before bedtime I would have thrown it. I can't do without those back tickles, you see.

So I had to consent to give him back his pillow and enjoyed it while he begrudgingly gave me back tickles and he made me promise never, ever, to do this again and I could only promise "I wont touch your pillow for another six months" because, honestly, we are moving in six months and it wont be my fault if that pillow doesn't make the move with us.

Or, maybe it totally will be my fault.

Because, honestly, I can handle it if those bed mites are having more sex than I. On my bed. Where I sleep.