I never thought I would say this, but my Superman is a thief. Thief I say! Here I have been thinking this kind and generous man was the sweetest thing since cake batter ice cream at the Cold Stone. He loves surprising me and giving me gifts. Now, as I am clambering into bed next to my snoring husband in a dark room after wrestling a little boy into falling asleep (which took nearly 30 minutes) I find he has commandeered my pillow, and this isn't the first time.
It is Christmas Day, our first Christmas Day as a married couple. Superman has been straining under his thinking cap trying to find me the perfect gift. Alas, the poor man set himself up to fail. I told him from the start that I didn't need anything extravagant. I liked reading, I liked movies, and I liked puppies. Nuff said, right? Well apparently I was not as crystal clear as I had thought. I worked my way through several gifts from Superman, all of them were fine, not what I would have expected, but fine all the same. He gifted me a set of golf clubs that I have used about once a year for five years now, a gift card to Borders that I immediately burned through, season one of Bones (which I like), and a fancy memory foam pillow. We brought all of the loot home and I tried the pillow the first night and it did absolutely nothing for my giraffe long neck. I am the kind of girl who played viola in junior high with a 3" tall shoulder rest. I am also the girl who usually cannot sleep without two fluffy pillows or three fairly flat pillows under my head. The memory foam pillow was a flop. It was just not accommodating to a neck so long as mine. I felt cramped and cricked the entire night. Husband was disappointed the pillow was not a hit. I told him over and over it was fine if he wanted to use it, in fact, he should use it. I wish I liked it better, but it just wasn't comfortable for me. He has used that pillow ever since.
I am clumsy. I fumble around in the dark on my way to bed after wiping off my face and brushing my teeth. I flip on the screen to my phone so I can see the edge of the bed before crawling in. I adjust my two fluffy head pillows and start feeling around for my third pillow, the small travel size one that feels like it is stuffed full of those itty, bitty packing balls that look like they belong in a snow globe. This was also a gift from my Superman, for my birthday before we were married. I am in love with this pillow. I love to hold it against my chest when I sleep. It keeps my elbows from knocking together. I sleep with it every night. So I am feeling around for it. I check the floor, I check the foot of the bed. It is nowhere. I use the lighted screen of my phone again to do one more scan, and there it is, clutched beneath my sleeping husbands arm. My lovely, beanie pillow. The soft, downy blue cover was just recently washed too, so I know it smells all jasminey fresh. I want it, but I know I will wake him if I take it back. It is my pillow! But Superman has to get up at 4am for work. He has had to get up at 4am for four days straight. He has four more days of getting up at 4am ahead of him. That is a lot of fours. I am letting him keep the pillow, but just for tonight. Tomorrow I commandeer it back.
I cannot help but sense a pattern here. My Superman is an Indian-giver when it comes to pillows. Now I know, after all this time.