I failed to mention that I live in Bartertown.

I recently bought some new bed pillows. Yesterday while tidying my room, I noticed the old bed pillows still sitting on my closet floor and thought, “I should get rid of those before I stop noticing them.” I have a bad habit of things going invisible on me if I don’t take care of them within a week. It takes another pair of eyes or impending houseguests before I realize, oh, that stack of receipts has been on my desk for two months, or oh, I guess I could move my old computer monitor away from the foot of my bed, where it’s been since March 2006.

Anyway, I was pumped to get rid of these old pillows before they disappeared before my very eyes, and I thought, “Huh, I wonder how I should dispose of them. They’re kind of big, they probably won’t fit in the trash… can’t recycle them… maybe I should go outside and set them on fire.”

I am not kidding. This was my totally lucid thought process, the first thing my brain jumped to. Right, of course. Just go outside on the street and set them on fire. And then I thought, “Wait, aren’t they really flammable or something?” But then I had this flash of genius: “Oh, but that’s okay, because that just means they’ll BURN UP QUICKLY AND COMPLETELY. Less mess.”

My parents’ friends, I am so sorry you ever allowed me to babysit your children.