Because I said so

Pillow talk

by Alison Lebovitz

If I had to pinpoint the single most ridiculous ongoing point of contention in my marriage, I could do it in just two words: show pillows.

For those of you who are wondering what a show pillow is, let me offer two standard definitions. The “female” definition of a show pillow is a decorative addition to any bed, which adds aesthetic value and beauty. The “male” definition of a show pillow is a ridiculous addition to any bed, which adds no value or purpose.

Admittedly, a show pillow serves no utilitarian function. One would never dare use a show pillow. That’s why they’re called show pillows—they’re only for show. If they were meant to be used, they would be, well, pillows.

Anyway, a few years ago and a few weeks before my husband’s birthday, he casually said one night, “I know what I want for my birthday.” I was eager to hear the answer, since I never know what to get the guy. He continued, “I want you to get the show pillows off the bed. I can’t stand them.” I just laughed and thought, “Yeah right. And let’s just take all the shades off the lamps, and the legs off the tables and the seats off the toilets.” And then I thought, “Oh wait, he’d probably like that last one.”

Unfortunately, he was serious, and this was no show. We ultimately reached a compromise, when I agreed to remove the show pillows during the normal course of life, and he agreed to let me put them back on the bed under special circumstances or in an emergency situation—like when we had guests, or when my mother came to visit.

For years now, those show pillows have taken up permanent residence in my closet. But a few weeks ago, they finally got their long-awaited freedom. It was a Saturday, and our three boys were spending the night at their grandparents’ house, so by 4 p.m. that day my husband, Alan, and I had the house all to ourselves. Our plan was to meet some friends out somewhere, until Alan suggested that our friends come over to our house instead. I stared at my disheveled domicile in disbelief and then panicked, realizing I had less than an hour to turn my mess into a masterpiece. And that’s when the frenzy began.

My house might look like a disaster area on occasion, but give me 60 minutes and I can turn even the most pathetic dump pristine. I come by it honestly; I am a second-generation frenzied fixer-upper. I inherit this skill from my mother, who can still put an otherwise disastrous room in order in just 10 minutes flat.

The problem is, I have a penchant for piling things around my house—in the kitchen, the living room, my office, our bedroom. You name it. Give me a flat surface, and I will give it a pile of stuff. But with the threat of outsiders entering our abode, I became a typhoon of tidiness. I had a spray bottle in one hand and a trash bag in another. I was folding and tucking and dusting and cleaning and, most of all, hiding the evidence of my daily life.

My husband looked on with what I thought was awe and curiosity, when in fact it was more like annoyance and doubt. “What are you doing?” he asked. “The house looks great. You don’t have to make it look perfect.”

Of course I had to make the house look perfect! The advantage of having guests over is that these people don’t live with me and have no idea how I normally live. So I ignored his remarks and asked him to please clear his own piles off the living room chair. He rolled his eyes but ultimately gave in.

After the last pile was neatly hidden in my laundry room, the final game piece haphazardly thrown into the closet, and all the messy remnants of our lives safely stowed, it was time for the finishing touch: the show pillows.

I took the five bulky beauties out of my closet, dusted them off and said, “It’s show time, ladies!” I then carefully and strategically placed them on our bed. As I took a step back to admire my hard work, my husband came into the room carrying his pile from the living room chair. “What do you think?” I asked with obvious pride. He stared at the pillows, shook his head and replied, “It’s very clean, but it doesn’t look like anyone lives here!”

I took a deep breath, smiled and said, “Thank you, honey. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”