Pillow Talk.

Not everything I got rid of in the great migration went in the yardsale. Lots of stuff just got pitched. My reading pillow had quite obviously seen better days. Most nights when I'd use it to read in bed, it'd leave a trail of crumbled foam rubber in its wake. I've used so much duct tape on it, it looked some sort of funky bondage toy. No question, it had to go, but that didn't mean I had to be happy about it. Why? Because I'm a guy. You've seen it in sitcoms and in beer commercials: husband/boyfriend reluctantly parts with hideous memento of a by-gone time. Stuffed mooseheads, velvet elvi, and novelty lamps find their way to the dump while some silly dude sulks. Clearly, the tattered reading pillow had to go, but, well, I'm a guy...