“As we go on, we remember, all the times we, had together”
—Vitamin C
We’ve had a good run these past two decades. Me, a sweat-stained, yellowing bed pillow. You, a 42-year-old single man that clearly hasn't lived with a woman since moving out of his mom’s place. And now, after years of supporting you both literally and figuratively, there’s only one thing left to do.
Please kill me.
It’s time. I just can't deal with another night of being repeatedly flipped, folded, and fluffed, in a futile attempt to be made comfortable.
You might not be aware of this, but a pillow is not a “buy it for life” type of product. On average they only last two years. And that’s if you take good care of it. Which you most certainly have not. And while the concept of time is admittedly fuzzy for me (being a pillow and all), I have to assume you shouldn’t still be resting your head on something purchased during W’s second term.
I mean, look at me. I’ve lost so much stuffing I’m now barely thicker than a playing card. In fact, I don’t even know if this qualifies as stuffing anymore. It’s majority eyelashes, dust mites, and soiled Heath bar wrappers.
My only request is, please make it quick. Maybe don’t even tell me when you’re going to do it. Just put me out of my misery. I suppose the most painless option would be to smother me with a pillow, but obviously that wouldn’t work. It would be a bit like trying to drown a fish. Or maybe quickly jam me down the garbage disposal. The landlord will never know.
As for the dog, just tell him you sent me to live at a farm for old bedding somewhere upstate. Also, I’m not mad about how you never stopped him when he would hump me. I’m not ok with it, either. But at this point, I’m over it and just want to move on.
“But we’ve been through so much together,” you’re probably saying. While I appreciate the years of service I’ve provided, I’m now at the stage of life where I can only offer you two things: a sore neck and existential dread.
At this point, I’ve given up on ever being cozy again.
Haven’t I been a good pillow to you? Did I complain all the times you threw me at the alarm clock or stuffed me under your ass for late night gaming sessions? Don’t I deserve to ride off into the proverbial sunset, AKA into the incinerator at the local dump?
I know change is hard, but think about all the amazing innovations in pillows that you’ve been missing out on. There’s memory foam and gel, and various shapes to accommodate your increasingly ample frame.
Please, don’t let my literal sad sack stuffed with pain and restless nights hold you back any longer. Go on and live your life.
Also, for the love of God, get tested for sleep apnea before you wind up in an early grave. Believe me, those casket pillows are not comfy.
“Every step I take, Every move I make, every single day, every time I pray, I’ll be missin’ you.”
—Diddy