Please Release Me, Mike Lindell
Ya let me down, Mike. Ya let me down bad.
I'm not a fussy guy. Third-rate is good enough for me. When my car gets dented or scraped, I don't get it fixed. I like canned spaghetti. When I buy beer, I make my purchasing decision based solely on price.
So, why would anyone be surprised that I don't care about pillows?
I like hotel pillows. I liked the pillow that came with the bed in my college dorm room.
In addition, I've always believed that the life span of a pillow is about 20 years. The pillow I'm sleeping on can be thin enough to slide under the door, and I'm fine.
My wife, on the other hand, is pillow-fussy. She changes her pillows often, and when she wears out a pillow, it can take her weeks to find a new one. I've known her to buy a pillow, sleep on it for a couple of nights and then return it to the store, something I thought was against the law. When one of her pillows gets too old for her to use, she gives it to me.
A couple of years back, on the hunt for new pillows, she bought a couple of MyPillows. She did not like the product, and she gave them to me.
Dewy-eyed from a night of perfect sleep, I awoke the next morning and looked her in the eye.
"These are the best pillows I've ever had," I told her. "I love these pillows."
"What?" she said. "You don't care what your pillows are like."