You come home to find all your pillows in a large cardboard box by the end of the driveway.
You stand outside your car and stare for a moment at what you thought you’d be laying your head down on tonight. Turning back to the house, you notice your wife looking out the kitchen window at you. You raise your arms in an exaggerated shrug, then gesture at the pillows. What the hell is this about?
Your wife gestures to you to come inside and you follow suit.
“Dr. Oz says they’re dangerous because they’re not hypoallergenic,” she explains “He recommended a brand to buy, I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
You stare silently at your wife. You blink twice. She correctly interprets this as aggression.
“What the hell, Chris? You never believe me, but he’s a doctor. He swore an oath to do no harm.”
You frown. Nothing good will come of discussion, but you find it impossible to mask your displeasure.
“He was right about the acai berries, wasn’t he? You feel better, don’t you?”
You haven’t taken a decent shit in months. He was most decidedly not correct about the acai berries, but it’s time to shut this down. You roll your eyes and nod. Better to sleep on the bed with no pillows than on the couch with no pillows.
“Good. I’m glad we can agree on something.”
You walk up to the bathroom and turn on the shower. You reluctantly wash with Dr. Oz’s African Black Soap, then stand in the shower for twenty minutes to drip-dry because Dr. Oz says towels spread germs.
You return downstairs and contemplate suicide while you grudgingly eat your quinoa. Your wife gives you a kiss on the cheek and you change your mind.
After a brief cuddle-session on the pillowless couch watching pre-recorded Dr. Oz that your wife missed while she was at work, you retire to bed. You lay down on the pillowless mattress.
At least she doesn’t watch Doomsday Preppers anymore, you think as you drift off to sleep.
Your neck hurts.