12 02 2008


I admit it.

So sue me.


I have a thing about pillows. My pillows. My pill-ow-s.

I sleep with five, sometimes six: the three I’ve had for over thirty years, soft, airy down so light that together they make up one standard hotel beast. Their covers are faded nearly golden, their cases I choose carefully–deep colors, smooth and cool to the touch.

Don’t ever EVER think about messing with them. Don’t ever think about borrowing one. Looking at them is okay, I guess.

I have plenty of extras for husband, children, pets, guests. But not these. Nuh-uh. Hands off.



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