For the love of Pete, stop bending my decorative pillows. (And the bed pillows.)


I said it.

The love of my life, the brainy-sexy-cool Wondertrickster (as I call her), has this habit that makes me want to turn into a mass of snarling, hateful bitey-face.

She bends my pillows.

Stop it! That’s not a euphemism for anything naughty. It’s the naked truth. If there is an unoccupied pillow in the vicinity (and pillows are prime real estate in Casa de Wonderboink, thanks to our three dogs) Wondertrickster will bend it. SHE. WILL. BEND. IT. As in fold it in half and subject the bent, folded pillow to her full weight. And sometimes the weight of our pets Wonderfright, Wondergrouch and Wonderlick.

I know what you’re thinking. What particular brand of crazy is Wondertwisted? Is this a first world problem or what? I am my own brand of distilled insanity and yes, my ire at the casual half-ing of pillows is a sure sign that I’m overfed, overindulged and, in the words of Helen Fielding, “bone idle.”

Look, peeves aren’t rational. Peeves are individual tics of the deranged first worlder with control issues. I know all this. But when Wondertrickster grabs a pillow, folds it in half and tucks it behind her back, I want to smack things and cuss. Wondertrickster and I have been jointly domesticated for nearly 20 years. I’ve learned to live with the way she squeezes a tube of toothpaste, the way she leaves usedgoddamnedqtips where our three mutts can find and eat them. (Hey, you think it’s a joy to clean up vomited Q-tips? You do it, then!) I cuss under my breath when I find all of her coats draped over every chair in the house when it is 100 degrees out.

But this pillow-crimping nonsense burns my biscuits. I simply can’t deal with it, you know?  It has something to do with the way my mother keeps her house. At any moment, a Southern Living freelancer could drop in, wait for her to hide the mail, and then take pictures of her house. Everything is beautiful. And when I’m at her house, I feel happy and cozy. I want my home to be the same.

This means that my pillows should be fresh. Crisp. Placed intentionally. They should not be creased. Their polyfill stuffing should be tightly packed, forming a convex belly that says “I’m soft! I’m fresh! I’m LOVED!”

You think I should embrace this quirk of Wondertrickster and accept the outcome as a signature of Casa de Wonderboink. When I look at the pillows around my humble abode — these sagging, deformed mounds of dog hair-covered decor — I don’t see the perfection my mother seems to accomplish with grace.

Maybe I will one day. But for now, I shall fluff, plump and mold while cussing like a shanked inmate in a state prison. I will glower and I will rage.

My pillows will look awful, but me? I will soldier on in this righteous domestic war.

Update: Wondertwisted wasn’t going to “out” Wondertricksters pillow-deforming vice. But  the Daily Prompt brought it up. And now you know what wondertwisted has to live with. Send whiskey and a valium, stat!



  1. Daily Prompt: Never Gonna Give You Up | Nola Roots, Texas Heart - February 20, 2014

    […] For the love of Pete, stop bending my decorative pillows. (And the bed pillows.) | Wondertwisted […]

  2. Daily Prompt: Never Gonna Give You Up | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss - February 20, 2014

    […] For the love of Pete, stop bending my decorative pillows. (And the bed pillows.) | Wondertwisted […]

  3. of vanity | Anawnimiss - February 20, 2014

    […] For the love of Pete, stop bending my decorative pillows. (And the bed pillows.) | Wondertwisted […]

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