A retro movie poster on our dining room wall warns that the Blob is “indescribable, indestructible, nothing can stop it!” It is like the expanding mass of pillows in our house.

At the end of the Blob, a cargo aircraft dumps it in the Arctic. It’s not a bad idea. Perhaps I can charter a plane (it might take two) to unload my wife’s pillows into the Arctic.

When my wife mentions that she wants another pillow, I have to keep a straight face. I let the silence take over and wait for her to tell me she’s kidding, but that line never comes.

I had one pillow (pillowcase optional) on my bed back in my bachelor days. My wife has amassed a legion covering 1/3 of our king-sized bed. Bed entry requires a pillow removal ritual. If I were to get into bed without deconstructing the pillows, the pillow wall would jack my neck into a 90-degree angle.

Here are the main offenders:

Shag Pillows
They are like exotic creatures a marine biologist might find gliding along a reef. Seemingly conjured from the mind of Dr. Seuss, they smell like wet hair. Sometimes when I stare at them long enough, I think I can see them breathing.

Shams
Shams are such a sham! Purely decorative, they are excuses for my wife to add volume to the already bulky bed situation. Adorned with fringes or other relief patterns that carve into the skin, they are not suitable for sleeping.

Extraneous Couch Pillows
Keep in mind that our couch came with pillows. It didn’t stop my wife from adding, creating a mass in true Blob fashion. The Blob, my wife, and our cats reduce my couch space to a sliver. I’m down to one butt cheek fitting on the couch.

The Shameful Hot Dog Pillow
Shameful because I’m the one that bought it while in Tulum at a bachelor party. I’m not sure what possessed me to get yet another pillow, but my wife loved it. In an instant, she (somehow) found a pillowcase for it and added it to the couch collection. It’s small, but I make a point to sleep on it out of stubbornness.