Remembering an Old Friend

It all went down last night after the kids went to bed. And thank goodness they were in bed so as not to witness the tragedy that unfolded. In a fury of late night bathroom cleaning, of scrubbing toilets, scouring showers and tubs, and finding clumps of hair in interesting spots -- I did him in. It was all an accident of course. A terrible tragedy. My bath pillow is history. There he lies, never again to provide comfort.

This pillow and I, we have a history. My dear sister bought him for me circa 1999 when I moved to a Washington, D.C. apartment and complained about something or other about not being able to enjoy a bath. Blah, blah, blah went my story as it usually does and abracadabra -- there appeared a pillow. He then traveled with me across the country to little Missoula, Montana and was put to very, very good use there. You won't believe this, but my apartment did not have a shower. Yes, I know. Throw the jokes at me. It is my belief that there are so many dread-headed people in that town due to the lack of modern bathing facilities. Really, it would have been easier for me not to even bathe or wash my hair. I think the bathtub was miniature. And the water heater gave out after the tub was filled about 1/20 of the way up. True environmentalism in action. But pillow and me, we perservered. Until last night, that is.

Pillow traveled with me from Missoula to my current residence and was turned from a bright white pillow into an orange pillow due to the high quality rusty water. Please note that this is not a reflection of my cleaning skills. Well, maybe it is a reflection, but only slightly.

I ripped the top suction cup off of pillow last night as I was removing him from the tub (note that the suction cup still hangs on the tub as if saying "ha ha I'm free!"). It may have been his 10 year old age, it may have been all the cleaning acids dumped on him in the last five years, it's hard to say. But his skin weakened and he now exists only in memory. I suppose I could duct tape him together, but I won't. I have my standards.

So sister, this is a test. Do you read this? Do you find it at all entertaining? If so, could you please take your sweet daughter to Target and tell her that you need to buy her weird aunt and darling cousins another bath pillow? In a color that won't rust? I promise not to ask for one for another 10 years.

Thanks in Advance,

Em