Tuesday, March 1, 2022

The Pillowcases (Day 60, Year 2)

Tonight, there was an argument about pillowcases. In fact, my husband is not speaking to me right now over the pillowcases. And for the record, I was going to write about the pillowcases even before he called me "obsessed" and "deranged."  I even took a picture BEFORE he said I was having "pillowcase tantrums."

He did not actually use the word "deranged" but his eyes signaled that he thought I was deranged, so that's close enough to being the truth. He absolutely did accuse me of having "pillowcase tantrums," and so what if I did? It is really none of his business. It's not like I was blaming him for the pillowcases, even though I probably was blaming him with my "deranged" eyes.

Part of me wants to believe that the argument is not really about the pillowcases. And I suppose this is possible. But, the word "pillowcase" was used at least 79 times (I wish I had one of those hand counter things, so I could have an exact count, because it would not surprise me if "pillowcase" was actually said 1,079 times). Analyzing this anecdotal evidence, I would say we really are engaged in a pillowcase squabble, wrangling over something I never thought I'd discuss with anyone, ever, in my entire life. 

But, here I am, passionate about pillowcases! 

Perhaps we've reached the very elderly, comfortable stage of marriage where bizarrely intense, passionate debates happen over things that were once benign. I remember once my parents had a nearly year-long dispute over a strawberry sticker on my Strawberry Shortcake sunglasses from K-mart. They had very opposite opinions over whether the sticker was packaging or decoration. I ended up with several pairs of the sunglasses, some with the sticker removed, some without. We went to the Warminster K-mart seven times in one weekend. 

I did not even really want the Strawberry Shortcake sunglasses, I wanted Wonder Woman, but no one asked my opinion. 

If I asked my mother about this right now, she would tell me how wrong my father was and demand to be heard on her opinion (the sticker was decoration and not to removed).  If I dare bring up the Wonder Woman thing, she will tell me "That's an idea," which means, "you are wrong, delusional and speaking nonsense."

Anyway, I haven't even told you the problem with the pillowcases! The problem is, tomorrow the cleaners come and they will change our sheets. It is my favorite thing in the world, because they make the beds so nicely and with so much care. However, every other week, I cannot find 4 matching pillow cases.  I can find flat/fitted combos. But the matching pillowcases are elusive. It drives me insane. I don't care about laundry any other time. But, on the eve of our cleaning day, I just want the sheet sets ready to go. 

Tonight, I looked everywhere. I looked in the linen closet. I looked in the clean clothes in the basement. I looked in the dirty clothes. I even pulled a bunk bed out from the wall and rooted through all the lost objects that had fallen, hoping to find one pillowcase. 

Spoiler Alert: I found all the candy wrappers from the past decade. BUT NO PILLOWCASES. 

WHERE DO THE PILLOWCASES GO?

Anyway, my husband kept trying to provide his pillowcase insight, while I was very focused on finding pillowcases. Then he tried to talk to me about his plan to find them when I sat down, finally, to write about them. Then he got irritated with me and called me "deranged" with his eyes and "obsessed" with his mouth. 

You know what, he is right, I am DERANGED AND OBSESSED. Because where are all the pillowcases? Where are they? Are my children taking them to use them for bad things? Is the dog eating them? Is my husband hiding them from me? (Obviously this is most logical!). Has my mother taken them to store Strawberry Shortcake sunglasses? Are they in an abandoned K-mart?

No one knows. I know you do not know, friends (or maybe you do?). So I will stop talking about them and begin talking to my husband, who will, undoubtedly, dedicate 2 hours in the early morning searching for pillowcases and to support his deranged wife. 

Which, I guess is fine, because we have to solve the pillowcase dispute and save our energy to argue over coffee mugs and skillets later this week. 






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