Last night I came walking into my bedroom, book in hand, and stopped dead in my tracks. Druck was laying across the bed with one of the decorative pillows from the living room rolled under him. When I say rolled, it was folded almost in half, tucked and squashed. For the male readers out there, you may not understand this issue, so let me make it very clear: decorative pillows are not for your use. They are not functional pillows. They are not to be laid upon, sat upon, or used as lap desks. They are there to accent a room, or a piece of furniture.
When I froze in mid-step, he looked at me and said, "What?"
"What are you doing with that decorative pillow?" I squeaked, gingerly approaching the bed like a lion stalking its prey.
"I'm laying on it," he replied innocently, and went back to watching television.
"No. You're not." I took the pillow and gave it a yank. After fluffing it and fixing its edges, I spoke again. "How many times have I told you that these pillows are off limits for you? You have ruined more than one decorative pillow, so knock it off."
"I bought the pillow. I can use it."
"NO. YOU. CAN'T. You have several other pillows available. Don't touch the decorative ones."
"Are you telling me I can't use this?"
"That's what I'm telling you."
Too tired to walk it back out to the living room, I set it on the floor, against the wall, and laid down beside him. I opened my book, ignoring his icy stare. After several seconds, he leaned in close to me and said, "The next time you're not around? I'm going to use that pillow."
I set my book down and said, "Oh yeah? You wanna know what I'm gonna do the next time you're not around? I'm gonna rub my bare ass all over your pillow. The one you sleep on. And put it back."
---a pregnant pause. . . Please wait while your party is located as his mind digests what was just said------
And now, Druck finds words....
"Oh yeah? The next time you're not around, I'm going to comb my ass with your toothbrush and put it back! And then, when you're brushing your teeth and you're wondering what that smell is, just remember that it's NOT YOUR BREATH."
I set my book down, looked him squarely in the eye [through my own pregnant pause], and burst out laughing. I laughed so hard that for some reason I found it necessary to point my left leg straight up in the air and arc my toes toward the ceiling. It seemed to help oxygen flow better into my lungs.
This morning, while readying for work, I walked into the bedroom and, before I even glanced his way, he yelled, "I'm not hurting the pillow!" He was sitting on the bed, pillow on his lap and his laptop on the pillow. And he was cowering.
"You don't take my threats seriously, do you?" I said, shaking my head. "Just wait."
"You wait."
I returned to the bathroom and, before leaving, put my toothbrush where he would never look for it. Because he, like all men, is afraid of "that box." I opened the cupboard under the sink, and slipped my toothbrush into a box of tampons. Being a woman is truly a powerful thing.
"You wait," he shrieked as I smiled and headed off to work.
Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma
