The pillowcase(s) of yellow dreams
Note: This column appears in the 2/23 issue of The Glendale Star and the 2/24 issue of the Peoria Times.
There are certain items my wife will always purchase regardless of how many of that item we own and our lack of necessity for that item. For example, food storage containers. The technology of air-tightness gets more dramatic by the day, and if a new food storage container item is introduced that promises to retain even more freshness than its predecessor, my wife will purchase 20 of them, which is fine. The only problem is that she refuses to get rid of the outdated containers, arguing, “You never know when we’re going to need them,” like, as a feasible example, on the off chance we mistakenly cook for 85 people one night instead of three.
But one item that I simply cannot fault her for consistently purchasing is bed sheets. Whenever (every weekend) I find myself in a department store, and have separated from my wife so that I can wander around aimlessly in search of clothes I will eventually return or a couch to sit on, our reunion will always be marked by her approaching while pushing a cart containing many, many sets of bed sheets. Before I can even process what is happening, she will say, “Don’t even say anything. They were on sale. And we need them.” I will then say something like, “But they’re still (whatever the price is), and you literally just bought bed sheets last weekend!” She’ll then sport a look that says, “Don’t push me or I’ll say it,” and of course I’ll persist, so then, in a restrained whisper-yell: “I wouldn’t have to buy them if you weren’t so disgusting!” I will then walk away shamefully.
It is true; I ruin bed sheets. Well, not so much bed sheets as pillowcases, and apparently back-up pillowcases are not a thing people can buy (note to self: business idea: backup pillow cases for disgusting husbands). I don’t know what it is, but my head exudes like, a yellow substance when I sleep.
I think all humans do this. It’s called science. Have you ever seen an old pillow? It’s all yellow and nasty. Well, I do this, too, but like I do all things … to the extreme. An old, 15-year old filthy pillow that one could find in a dumpster is what my pillow looks like after one night’s sleep.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t drool. I don’t sweat. I just exude yellowness, I guess. I never realized how dramatic it was until set against the pristine, color-retentiveness of a soul mate’s pillowcase. Just the other day my wife was frustratingly forcing me to change the bed sheets -- a pleasant flower print variety -- yet again. The flowers on her pillowcase were the same deep and bright purples as when we had removed them from the packaging. My pillowcase had completely faded to a drab yellow. I think the flowers had actually wilted. Apparently, I am so disgusting that I can change spring to winter just by going to sleep.
I would love to hear if other male human beings experience such things. If so, please let me know! You can do so anonymously, as I imagine normal men would opt to keep this private rather than write entire columns about it with their name and face attached. Also, if you are a scientist and can explain what is happening, that would be much obliged.
While you’re at it, let me know if you ever agreed to sleep on purple flower-print sheets, because I feel as though I should be embarrassed by that as well. Thank you.
There are certain items my wife will always purchase regardless of how many of that item we own and our lack of necessity for that item. For example, food storage containers. The technology of air-tightness gets more dramatic by the day, and if a new food storage container item is introduced that promises to retain even more freshness than its predecessor, my wife will purchase 20 of them, which is fine. The only problem is that she refuses to get rid of the outdated containers, arguing, “You never know when we’re going to need them,” like, as a feasible example, on the off chance we mistakenly cook for 85 people one night instead of three.
But one item that I simply cannot fault her for consistently purchasing is bed sheets. Whenever (every weekend) I find myself in a department store, and have separated from my wife so that I can wander around aimlessly in search of clothes I will eventually return or a couch to sit on, our reunion will always be marked by her approaching while pushing a cart containing many, many sets of bed sheets. Before I can even process what is happening, she will say, “Don’t even say anything. They were on sale. And we need them.” I will then say something like, “But they’re still (whatever the price is), and you literally just bought bed sheets last weekend!” She’ll then sport a look that says, “Don’t push me or I’ll say it,” and of course I’ll persist, so then, in a restrained whisper-yell: “I wouldn’t have to buy them if you weren’t so disgusting!” I will then walk away shamefully.
It is true; I ruin bed sheets. Well, not so much bed sheets as pillowcases, and apparently back-up pillowcases are not a thing people can buy (note to self: business idea: backup pillow cases for disgusting husbands). I don’t know what it is, but my head exudes like, a yellow substance when I sleep.
I think all humans do this. It’s called science. Have you ever seen an old pillow? It’s all yellow and nasty. Well, I do this, too, but like I do all things … to the extreme. An old, 15-year old filthy pillow that one could find in a dumpster is what my pillow looks like after one night’s sleep.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t drool. I don’t sweat. I just exude yellowness, I guess. I never realized how dramatic it was until set against the pristine, color-retentiveness of a soul mate’s pillowcase. Just the other day my wife was frustratingly forcing me to change the bed sheets -- a pleasant flower print variety -- yet again. The flowers on her pillowcase were the same deep and bright purples as when we had removed them from the packaging. My pillowcase had completely faded to a drab yellow. I think the flowers had actually wilted. Apparently, I am so disgusting that I can change spring to winter just by going to sleep.
I would love to hear if other male human beings experience such things. If so, please let me know! You can do so anonymously, as I imagine normal men would opt to keep this private rather than write entire columns about it with their name and face attached. Also, if you are a scientist and can explain what is happening, that would be much obliged.
While you’re at it, let me know if you ever agreed to sleep on purple flower-print sheets, because I feel as though I should be embarrassed by that as well. Thank you.
Comments
Solution: buy dark pillow cases (at least for your nasty head, let you wife use the pretty ones).
ps - don't fake the funk on a nasty dunk!