Pillow invasion

At times, spouses may have a conversation together about various items in the home. This conversation will generally include discussion about various other items that are not in the home, but which the wife feels very strongly should be in the home.

A husband may attempt to dissuade his wife from her feelings about the necessity of these items, particularly if money must be parted with in order to acquire them. After some time of discussion, the wife may refrain from mentioning the subject again.

Husbands, do not think that because your wife has not mentioned the subject for some time that she has forgotten it. No. During its forced confinement the idea has incubated, and ripened, and at some future point will blossom into sudden fullness. To you, who have forgotten that the subject was ever discussed, this blossoming will seem random and greatly ill-advised.

For about a year and a half we have been in possession of a leather couch. Although we have been pleased with the couch -- mainly because it has allowed us to fritter away valuable time on naps -- the couch was not realizing its full potential, which is to house mounds of decorative pillows that prevent occupants from being able to fully engage with the couch and generally enjoy their sitting (or napping) experience.

When the couch first arrived we were in complete agreement that it needed pillows. I record here, for all posterity, Joe's exact words on the subject:

"We need some pillows for the couch."

But that was 19 months ago, during which time the couch has remained pillowless, because choosing pillows is a major task not to be taken lightly. I haunted home stores, looking for exactly the right pillows, pillows that would convey a message to all who enter our home. This message basically is: Don't sit here.

At last, exactly the right pillows were located and were strategically placed on the couch. I waited for Joe to notice the new pillows, confident that he would share my joy that the couch was finally "finished."

It did not take him long to notice the pillows, as they are the only objects in the room that are not black, brown, or beige.

"There are pillows on the couch," he said.

"Yes," I said happily. "We finally got pillows!"

"Why did we get pillows?"

"Why did we get pillows?" I repeated. "We were always going to get pillows! You even said we should get pillows."

This was greeted with some measure of disbelief.

"When we got the couch, you said" -- here I positioned myself in front of the couch exactly as he had stood that day, hoping to jog his memory -- 'We need some pillows for the couch.' There was never a time when we weren't going to get pillows."

Clearly he thought there existed some sort of statute of limitations on agreements regarding pillows, but after further discussion he could see that the pillows were not leaving.

"At least I can still see the couch," he said in a resigned voice. I had bought only two pillows.

"Hmmmm," I said thoughtfully, an idea starting to percolate.

"No," he said. "No more pillows."

"Hmmmm," I said.