First World Problems

At some point during my allergy-ridden, cough-plagued childhood, some doctor suggested I sleep with two pillows so that I could stop choking on my own phlegm. People called me spoiled in college because I brought two pillows.

(I went to college when you couldn't get cable in your dorm room and you shared a landline with your roommate. We were cool because we had a toaster oven.)

Sure, I slept on a lumpy futon for years. . .but it always had two pillows. Somewhere along the way it became three pillows. Pregnancy pushed the number to four.

This is how I know that I am old: My bed and my pillows are killing me - even though they are all much better than the lumpy futon and the pillows that came with it. I daydream about a new bed the way tweens daydream about Justin Bieber.

Since a new bed isn't in the cards right now, I thought I'd at least get new pillows. Good pillows could surely help my neck and back, right?

I don't know. Apparently the pillows I bought weren't good ones. They are worse than the old ones, actually. I hate them. And I say this as someone who has used dirty laundry as an additional pillow when sleeping at family members' homes.

So I admit it. I am old. I need good pillows. Tell me, wise readers, where do old people buy their pillows?