The Indoorsman -- Pillow talk

"Which of these do you like better?" The Indoorswoman asked.

"They're pillows," I said.

We were at Pier 1 Imports, and she was trying her best to engage me in a discussion on the relative merits of what looked to be identical throw pillows. Kind of a "Do you like the brown one or the brown one?" type thing.

NOTE: Before going any further, I want to make clear that your Indoorsman recognizes this column topic has the potential to veer into men-are-from-Mars-women-are-from-Venus cliché. And the last thing I want to do is write the newspaper version of some hoary old "According to Jim" episode (Woman: "Let's go shopping!" Man: "But I want to watch football." Wacky neighbor: "Now that's what I call a sticky situation!" Laugh track: "Laughter.") I'm writing about this anyway, because I suspect the dynamic between The Indoorswoman and me, in the context of pillow-shopping at least, transcends that old cliché by virtue of its extremity. That is to say: I really, really, REALLY don't care what kind of pillows I have on my couch. And she really, really, REALLY loves picking out stuff like that -- not the buying or the acquisition, but the process.

So, anyway, there we were. She was holding a pillow in each hand, and I was holding my tongue to keep from saying how stupid this whole exercise was. It was a nice enough impulse, this desire of hers to buy me some pillows for my couch, which already had three pillows on it. But I really didn't give a care about what kind of pillows they were.

In fact, I'm generally anti-pillow. I push them to the side when I sit on my couch, and I often throw aside the pillow on my bed when I go to sleep. It's either because I subconsciously consider pillows some kind of crutch for the weak or because my flabbiness makes pillows redundant. I'll go with the former explanation, although the latter is more plausible. But I digress.

The point is, despite all my attempts at earnest discussion of these pillows (Note: I made no attempts at earnest discussion of these pillows), I could not make myself care in any way. The Indoorswoman, who will on occasion spend hours sniffing the scented candles at Pier 1 and then handing them to me so I can sniff them, certainly registered my lack of engagement. But she was undeterred. She always is. I dare you to try to deter her. Again, I digress.

Ultimately, I just pointed at one -- the brown one, not the brown one -- and she agreed that I'd made the right choice. She bought a pair of them for me.

It was a victory for The Indoorswoman; she somehow pulled a pillow preference out of me. And it was a victory for me; I was able to leave Pier 1 without sniffing a single candle.

And, I have to admit, those pillows really do look nice on my couch -- exactly as nice as any pillows of any color would.

-- The Indoorsman