My Fascist Pillow
Every night as my head sinks into the pillow, I have a momentary flash of anxiety. Because the pillow cradling my head is a … My Pillow. Yep, the pillow I sleep on is from the company run by that fascist white supremist conspiracy theorist delusional Trumper guy.
I bought the pillow years ago, before I had any inkling that the CEO was a fascist. When I discovered with horror what I was sleeping on, I began the quest for a replacement. But since I not only have neck and back issues but also an unusually small head, my attempts to find a pillow that doesn’t give me nerd neck have so far been unsuccessful.
Luckily, some companies allow returns on bedding. But many don’t. And so my morally-acceptable-but-spinally-misaligning pillow collection still grows, overflowing the closet in the spare room.
Of course, the My Fascist Pillow isn’t that good either. After putting it through the washing machine (which Fascist Pillow Guy claims you’re supposed to be able to do with no problem), it developed a multitude of lumps which, with some effort, can usually be squashed down. It’s kind of like sleeping on a plate of mashed potatoes prepared by a not-so-great-cook.
I fear I will be stuck with the Fascist Potato Pillow for the rest of my life, forever doomed to collect inferior pillows until they line the walls of my apartment and I become known as a crazy pillow hoarder. But at least if I trip over a table leg and fall, I won’t break anything.
And what if I have a heart attack and the paramedics burst in, and when they lift me onto the stretcher the corner of the pillowcase gets scrunched to expose the telltale lettering scrawled across the pillow? Might they think I’m a fascist and, perhaps, drop me accidently-on-purpose onto the hardwood floor?
So the search goes on.
