We went pillow shopping
Throw. Pillows. Is there a worse two-word combination in the English language?
We have a nice TV. I mean, it’s really nice. In my mind, it’s the king of TVs. When we moved to our new home last year, we splurged on a few new items to help make the place more to our liking.
In our old home, we actually still had an old regular-definition, cathode ray 32-inch Sharp TV behemoth. Barbaric, I know. We decided to not hurk it along with us on our 800-mile move to the sunnier side of life.
So we needed a new TV. We decided to go big-time with a 4K ultra high-def 65” class smart TV. Anyway, it’s a nice TV. The problem we encountered is that a TV that big needs to be seen from a good distance away. The new house’s living room isn’t huge.
We plopped our couch in front of said TV and soon learned that our couch is too close, even though it was back against a partial wall. We needed to move everything around. The solution? A recliner that could put a human head back just enough distance to make the too-up-close couch viewing a perfect distance.
And so we did.
You said this was about pillows
I’m getting there. This is vitally important background. And I value your truth that is impatience. Trust me.
Ever been furniture shopping with my wife? I don’t recommend it. Having determined that we will seek to purchase a recliner, we traversed the city in exhausting test mode. We wrestled over the decision. We finally agreed upon a recliner. A solution was achieved. This was February. This détente lasted about six minutes. Without going into detail, she scuttled the decision. We got nothing. I stayed silent on the surface.
Fast forward to August. Again, without going into full detail, we determined to acquire a recliner. Again. Fortunately, the one we favored nearly half a year ago was still there. Of course, she had to re-think the process. Several others were tested anew, considered and reconsidered.
Guess what? We bought the recliner we picked out in February — a victory for decision-making everywhere. For those of you scoring at home, I consider this exhibit A in believing in your dreams, fighting the good fight and playing the long game. She probably considers it “letting him win one for once.”
So now we have the solution. Here’s where things got ever more wifey. You throw pillow aficionados will want to wake up now. In any negotiation, you have to give up something to get what you want. It was made clear that this recliner was a “get” for me. She was going to “get” something too.
That something was throw pillows. If there are any men reading this article, throw pillows are those things on your couch that you do not know are there. You pay no attention to them, unless, of course, you are being yelled at for scrunching, smudging or sweating on them. You know, using them.
You know what they are now, right?
Did you further know that deciding which combination of throw pillows to bring into your living room is not only more difficult than achieving peace in the Middle East, but will also turn you into Israel vs. Palestine? And here’s the thing: One of these warring countries has absolutely no interest in the throw pillows.
I had to play along. For two reasons. First, I agreed to go shopping for @#$*ing throw pillows when we were eversoclose to agreeing to really buy the recliner. Leverage aside, I am a man of my word. Second, knowing my wife just enough, I knew this was going to take a loooooong time.
I was not disappointed. In that regard.
Fortunately, I had my smartphone and they also sold chairs in the store. I was set. I could win this war of death by boredom. My daughter, on the other hand, well, it’s sad to say she was collateral damage. She’s five so she has no smartphone. No sports scores to catch up on, no news about player injuries or articles about who deserves what contract — none of that vitally important and time-killing stuff. Nope. She had to live in the throw pillow moment. For as long as her little legs could hold out.
Thank God for technology
What did shopping men ever do without smartphones? They suffered like my daughter, that’s what. She gamely tried to maintain a positive attitude as her mother repeatedly tested out pillow after pillow after pillow combination in four different store locales: on a chair, on another chair, on a shelf and (yuck) on the floor. My girl tried. It went on and on. She stuck with it. Inevitably, it beat her in the end. Soon, my lovely little girl began orbiting around me and left the crazy pillow lady to her task.
I was occasionally harkened from my reverie. I was asked my opinion. Here’s where the strategy gets dicey, for you newly marrieds. I didn’t care, of course. I’m not a crazy person. But here we are in crazy town, so I’m playing along. I offered up the odd commentary. Tossed in a few affirmations of “decisions” already made.
Why, you ask? If I just demurred or blurted that I didn’t care … well, rookie move. That kind of conduct gets you into RelationShit land. I know RelationShit land all too well. Sunday morning was RelationShit morning. It’s always a surprise. We do it about once a quarter I’d say. You? You know, the built up airing of grievances that tearfully spill out after being pent up for some gray, dusty length of time.
Sunday morning was our RelationShit day. Always a surprise, never ends when you want it to … RelationShit. Get yours today.
No, they’re not fun, these surprise attacks, but they yield valuable insights and new resolutions that will improve one’s primary relationship. Plus, I got a recliner out of the last one, so maybe they’re not all bad.
So that’s the story of the throw pillow wars of [insert any year here]. Tensions around this topic will probably escalate again in two years or so, but you celebrate peace whenever it happens. In the meantime, I’ll keep writing away here from my new recliner. It is comfy, although I wish I had something soft to stuff behind my head. I wonder if we have anything like that lying around.
Julian Rogers is the editor and publisher of The Hit Job, Marketing Communications Leadership and is the owner of Juju Eye Communications.
