So even though it’s just Him and me, every day, every night, every minute, every second, every @#$% time I turn around, until I am almost ready to take a … but wait, I digress.
What I meant to say is that we have settled into Our Routine Pandemic Pattern: Wake up, eat, nap, eat, watch TV, eat, have a conversation, eat, nap, eat, watch TV, eat, change from day pajamas into night pajamas, eat, go to bed, watch TV, nap, eat, sleep.
Today’s conversation was about the importance of pillows. And eating.
I believe that even in a pandemic there must be bedmaking. This drives Him — and 99.9% of the human population — nuts.
This guy who lives with me — only ’cause I guess that’s what married people do (who knew?) — would crawl out of the same heap of sweaty sheets and covers every day of the year and never smooth the linens, fluff the pillows, straighten the comforter or arrange the decorative pillows if he had his way. He would certainly never, ever launder them.
“What’s the point? We’re just going to mess them up again,” he argues.
The Rule: The first one downstairs in the morning feeds the cats and cleans out the litter box. The last one out of the bed makes the bed — according to the laminated diagram and detailed instructions on top of the dresser.
I kid, I kid. They’re not laminated.
Since the Significant Other is a late nighter/late riser, the bed making usually falls to him.
He reasons that while living through a pandemic and sustaining life (as in feeding the cats and himself) is a necessity, making the bed is not. Plus, he Hates the decorative pillows.
After I redecorated and added even more pillows, he started pinning ominous notes to the pillows:
“I have had no formal training on what to do with this pillow. Zero!”
“Another @#$%ing pillow?! Seriously?!”
“Three grandchildren have gone missing under this mountain of useless pillows!”
“For God’s Sake, I’m Begging You, No More Pillows!”
Not long ago he decided to “add some flair” to the bedroom décor using only his Man Eye, which could use a little — no, a lot — of help from Queer Eye.
Have I mentioned he Hates the pillows?
He threw all the pillows together in a jumbled heap in the middle of the bed in defiance of the chic and symmetrical combination of colors, textures and placement I prefer. When I saw it, my OCD went into overdrive. But since I also have ADD, it didn’t last long.
Our early marriage times of intimate pillow talks have somehow morphed into colorful — yet chic and asymmetrical — pillow fights.
I blame the pandemic.
Tomorrow’s Conversation Topic: Is a top sheet really necessary?