Tracy Beckerman column: Pillow talk
Columns share an author’s personal perspective.
Every once in a while I get bitten by the redecorating bug and I feel compelled to refresh one of the rooms in the house.
In the grand scheme of things, this is not as bad as, say, wanting to refresh husbands. Of course, it might actually be cheaper to get a new husband than a new family room. But since my husband is the one financing the redecorating, it behooves me to keep him around. Besides, I like to see the pained expression he gets on his face when I ask him to look at fabric swatches.
When I got the bug this time around, however, we were not really in a position to get new furniture. So, I decided to see what I could do to improve the look of the room without spending a lot of money. Having watched my fair share of home improvement TV shows, I knew that the secret to creating a new look in our family room on a dime really came down to one word:
“What’s with all the pillows?” asked my husband when he came home from work and saw a dozen different throw pillows fluffed and arranged on the sofa and club chair.
I beamed. “Doesn’t it look great? I redecorated with pillows!!
“What?” I cried. “You don’t like them?”
“We are not Pillow People.” He said definitively. He popped his p’s like they were poison darts.
I had no idea what to make of that remark. I assumed it had some kind of negative connotation from the way he said it, but it escaped me how something as innocuous as a pillow could be bad.
“What are pillow people?” I asked.
He inhaled deeply. “Pillow people have a lot of pillows everywhere. And they have poofy loveseats. They also have cats. And dried flowers. And candles that make the house smell like vanilla.”
I thought for a minute.
“And you prefer no pillows and droolly dogs and leather recliners with built in cup holders and a house that smells like dirty socks?”
“YES!” he said, throwing his arms in the air.
“You had that house. It was your bachelor pad,” I reminded him. “It was a pit.”
He shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as comfortable.”
“Pillows are comfortable,” I protested.
He shook his head and walked over to the couch. “Watch.”
He went to sit down on the couch, but the pillows took up so much real estate that there was only about 6 inches of open couch space left at the end for someone to actually sit. He bent down, rested the very edge of his backside on the available couch space, and stared at me.
“OK, I see your point,” I admitted.
“I’ll lose some of the pillows,” I promised.
“But can I keep the new cat?”
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