A week or so so ago, I talked the Canadian into buying me this visco-latex pillow with the hope that it would cure me of all my ailments. The pillow was expensive but I was so sure that it held the secret key to the complete cure of all my prostration frustration… Anyway I carried that pillow around the store, nagging the Canadian in some kind of possessed childhood “tanty”-like state, saying things like: “look at the way the foam remembers the shape of my hand, it’s so wonderful” or, “this pillow is like the hand of God, shake it, shaaaaaake it”. Clearly my feminine charms prevailed in the end and I carried that pillow out of the store, above my head in a triumphant and glorious non-verbal communiqué to the world, that my neck pain would now be a thing of the past.

Boy was I mis-lead.

That pillow is thee hardest, most dense piece of foam I have ever come across in my entire existence. I’m going to go as far as to assume it’s the type of pillow you would get in a maximum security prison. Honestly, you could safely stand on this pillow to change a light bulb it’s so big and dense. But because I made this terrible hoo-hah in the store about the assumed wonders of this thing, I just know that the Canadian will give me such a hard time if I go back to my original pillow. Thus, the charade continues and every morning, when I wake with a neck stiffer than the party punch at Drew Barrymore’s 8^th birthday party, I have to smile and contort my neck about, in what I’m hoping is perceived as a blatant display of some kind of new-found flexibility, born of a perfect, ethereal pillow and thank him for the role he played in all of this.

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