Mine. Not Yours.

The Man gets up earlier than I do many days, depending on his schedule, so there are some days where he goes to bed a little before I do. I enjoy the brief solo interlude in a quiet house and he gets to sprawl across the bed in such a way that you can picture a little cartoon thought bubble over his sleeping head:

The only problem with this occasional set up is that he prefers my pillow. And it's not the pillow! I'll switch pillows with him when we're changing the sheets and then a few days later I'll find him wrapped around the pillow that was recently his. The one that wasn't good enough mere days before.

His method of head and arm wrapping involves warming both sides of the pillow and I'm completely deprived of the cool side of the pillow goodness and then I'm compelled to take the role of Big Whiny Loser Baby standing over him and hissing "you're on my pillow!" trying to get him to move but simultaneously not trying to wake him up because that would be rude and that's his role in this little charade.

(Wow, that whole paragraph was one sentence because I economize and conserve like a good citizen should. no wasting of capital letters and punctuation on this blog no sir i could even strive to conservespacestoo)

Readers, you will recognize this as the traditional moment where I finally wind up a long and seemingly aimless introduction to lead in to a very simple and only tangentially related actual point:

These here pillowcases? I like them and think they'd be functional in my home.



Available at The Bazaarium, a Victorian-inspired emporium. Seen on Creature Comforts.

P.S. I know none of us are resting our heads very easily this week.  Support The Red Cross and help a few more people find a new place to lay down their heads.

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