Benjamin Franklin once said that “fatigue is the best pillow.” I say go fly a kite in a thunderstorm, Benny boy, because the best pillows are decorative.
Write your little quilled quip in script, slap it on a small, scratchy pillow, and then get back to me. God knows I’ve been looking to add to my collection. One of my older pillows lost a few feathers after some overzealous fluffing and now I swear I can see a bit of the couch.
After that debacle, I decided I’m never drinking red wine and Red Bull from the same travel mug on Fluffin’ Friday ever again—though I will continue to sell the combination, which I’ve named the Red Devil, to sunbathers in the park. Not only does it help pay for my pillow habit—it makes me feel like I’m contributing to my community, like I’m a stand-up member of society.
And, it is true, I do a lot of standing. Who has the time or space to do anything but stand when your apartment is covered in decorative pillows? I had a girlfriend who once compared my place to “hell on Earth” before making me choose her or the pillows—and, funny enough, that’s the night the Red Devil was born. Oh, really, Justine? The decorative pillows have no practical use and just take up space? Then please explain to me why they’re the exact, perfect size for sobbing into. You don’t even have to dry them afterward—yet another thing to love about nylon.
I’ll never understand the hatred of decorative pillows. What’s so great about normal pillows, anyway? That they’re so boring to look at that you can’t help but fall asleep? If that makes you happy, fine, but I highly recommend living life on the edge of a bed that’s covered in tiny pillows with tassels.
Take it from me: if you’re ever looking to spice things up in the bedroom, add thirty to forty pillows to the mix, and you and your partner will be huffing, puffing, and glistening with sweat by the time the top sheet is revealed.
Because we’re on the topic, no, I don’t have a “thing” for decorative pillows. Sure, I love them, but not in that way. Go ahead and call the manager at Target, and she’ll tell you that I’m banned from the home-furnishings section for a completely different reason. If she doesn’t immediately hang up, maybe you can also ask her why they even put a Starbucks inside of their store if they’re that opposed to people spilling salted-caramel nitro cold brew all over their products? What did they think was going to happen? The sad thing is that I was going to buy one of those “Netflix & Chill (if by ‘Chill’ You Mean ‘Eat a Pint of Ice Cream’)” pillows, until I was dragged out by security.
My friends and family roll their eyes at the sayings on my decorative pillows, but they’re missing the point. I don’t care if the pillows are clever, only that they’re there. I think it’s because, deep down, I wish that people felt that way about me. I may not be conventionally useful, fashionable, or pleasant in any way, but, damn it, I am here. You can throw me to the floor, but you will never bring me down. Sorry if that sounds crazy—I think it’s the Red Devil talking. “God Bless This Mess,” indeed. Remember, man, “Just Breathe.”
Thankfully, my pillows are also the perfect size for screaming into. I call this process “turning a page on the rage,” and hope to someday publish a book on its calming effects. Benjamin Franklin once said “the discontented man finds no easy chair.” I, however, know exactly where my easy chair is. It’s just covered in decorative pillows.
