Yes, another dilemma with Nana (my 95-year-old Grandmother). The feather pillow that she brought from Georgia is really worn out, “Flat as a flitter,” she says. And it’s probably 20 years old at least. So, a couple of months ago, I took her to the mall to buy a new pillow. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a large selection of feather pillows at Macy’s, and the first one we saw was $248.99.
We looked around a bit more, and finally, she found a cheaper one. When the very nice, rather handsome African American clerk rang up her purchase, his eyes seemed to dilate. And he stuttered, “Um, hold on, let me check on… that price can’t…” and his voice trailed off.
The clerk was sans wedding ring, and I immediately recognized the bachelor’s dilemma. He looked to be around 25, and I assumed he’d never been shopping for linens and such with a girlfriend as yet. I smiled and said, “Yes, this pillow really is $70. That’s almost half off.”
“For real?” asked the clerk, looking at me wide-eyed. “Yeah, I see that now,” he mumbled, glancing at the computer, “It was originally $149.99.”
“It’s goose down,” I said.
He stared at me, an abyss of confusion whirling in his dark eyes. “What kind of goose charges this much?” he asked grinning, “Cuz, I’m thinking they’s some pigeons on my street that…” at which point, his jovial mood was shut down by the flat-eyed glare from Nana. I felt so bad for him. He was being so nice, and he had no clue who he was dealing with…
I smiled and looked away.
He cleared his throat and smiled again. “Will there be anything else, today, ladies?”
“No, thank you,” Nana replied in that tethered tone of hers.
After she bought the new pillow, I thought finally, I wouldn’t have to hear about her pillow and all of its uncomfortable glory, but I was SOOO WRONG. The next morning when I brought Nana her morning medication, I smiled and asked, “How’d you sleep last night on the new pillow?”
“Oh, it was terrible,” she whined, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s hard as a brick.”
Perplexed, I went over, grabbed the pillow and checked it out. I squeezed the pillow with my hand and said, “Feels pretty soft to me.”
She shook her head, and gave me this disgusted look. She pushed down on the pillow frowning. “See that,” she said, almost snarling. “It’s made with trashy feathers.”
I’m sorry, Nana, but I’m not familiar with the Trashy-Feathered Goose? Is that the one who lives on the wrong side of the tracks, the one my mother warned me about? The one with tattoos, who dies her feathers pink or purple?
I busted out laughing. I couldn’t help myself, and she looked at me as if I were auditioning for an Alzheimer’s ward.
“Why are you laughing?” Nana asked, obviously annoyed.
“There’s no such thing as trashy feathers.”
“Well…you know what I mean. It’s not real goose down.”
“Nana, they can’t label something as goose down on this tag,” I explained, pulling back the pillow case and showing her the little tag attached to the pillow that did, INDEED, say:
100% goose down.
“If it’s not goose down, that’s fraud. I don’t think Macy’s is going to risk a lawsuit over a pillow.”
Nana merely scowled, emphasized by a “hmpf.”
Therefore, Nana’s diagnosis of her new bargain from Macy’s seemed a little more than inflammatory, given the original cost of the hard as a brick item full of trashy feathers.
“We can take it back if you like,” I offered….while I was thinking—at some point, not anytime soon because every time we go to the mall, she BITCHES and moans the entire way there and back about the traffic because “down home” (in Georgia) they never had any traffic. To-wit, I could only shake my head.
Her house is 20 minutes away from the beach, and the nearest mall is about 6 minutes away. And though it’s not as BIG a tourist attraction as Hilton Head, it can get really congested at times in her little berg. However, she was rarely out and about during rush hour down home.
Plus, driving from my house to the nearest mall to my suburb takes about an hour round trip due to the current construction on I-270 (our beltway), which is beyond my purview to remedy.
And getting her out of the mall after 2-3 hours sometimes requires a bit of trickery—like saying they’re closing 270 for a parade or something. Yes, I’m going to hell for telling falsehoods so that I don’t have to spend 4-5 hours at the damned Mall with Nana. Feel free to prepare the tar and feathers. Just make sure they’re not TRASHY FEATHERS! 🙂
A few days later, she changed her mind, and decided to keep the trashy-feathered pillow!!!
Yes, I have undeniable proof: There is a God…
I felt really bad that Nana’s neck still hurt even with the new pillow. However, at her age, her neck would probably hurt if she were sleeping on CLOUDS.
Over and out from WTF county, somewhere in the Buckeye state…
HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND, ALL!