End of an Era

My parents have been married for 25 years now, and during that time my mother has owned two pillows. That's right folks, only TWO!
Two is the number of wheels on a bicycle.
Two is the loneliest number since the number one.
Two is the amount of years you should own a pillow before replacing it.

Two is NOT the amount of pillows you should own in a 25 year period.

Needless to say, I thought her pillow was disgusting. No longer in the shape of a normal pillow, and with a stench of my Mother you could only get by resting your nose in her belly button, it was time for a change. This Christmas was that time.

Receiving new pillows as a present meant that her oh so loved pillow had to go. So on Christmas, not only did I receive the joy of Jesus, I received the joy of seeing my mother's disgusting, over-loved pillow bite the dust. We joked about burning it, but resisted for fear of some airborne virus that might attack in the smoke.

So, nasty pillow, wherever you may be, rest in pieces and thanks for holding my mother's fungal spores and dust mites for over fifteen years. You're the best!