Deb: I am a pillow flunffer from waaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy back. Before a guest comes into our home, I am flunffing for all I am worth. Very little gives me such satisfaction as seeing the couch pillows, window pillows, seat pillows, bed pillows and throw pillows flunffed up like they are on steroids. Done correctly, these pillows should look like animated studies in plumped perfection! It is always the last thing I do in my day, this flunffing.
When I was younger and learning at the hands of Mum, queen of flunffers, I found myself to be a skilled and willing student. I was born to flunff. My Mum would tell me how wonderful the pillows looked after I had flunffed, but sometimes I would catch her out of the corner of my eye working the re-flumff.
She saw me catch her once and she said that she had accidently sat on it and it had flattened. I pretended I believed her. We weren’t kidding each other. Because, as a grown woman, I know now how damned important the flunff is! Guess I always have.
Means everything to the welcome guest. I only wish that all my guests could arrive together and stand in a line looking at the flumff in all its glory. Because each time a guest sits down, I die a little. The flunff is fleeting. However, I won’t lie to you. I am not above re-flunffing when they go to the washroom. I have decided that instead of chalking it up to neurotic behaviour, I am going to look at the re-flunffing as I service to my guests. I mean, come on, who doesn’t like a good flunffing.
Barbara: I have to say, Deb, that when it comes to this subject, I know flunff-all.
No, my pillows wallow, unnoticed and flat, in the corners of my sofas and chairs. I don’t think I even acknowledge them if not for the scrunching they get when I need one tucked under an arm to read or sometimes in front of the TV under a sleepy head.
I wonder if my pillows resent me for it … After all, if they lived at Deb’s house (and let me confirm her pillows are resplendent and gloriously flunffed, masterpieces of the genre), they’d be fondled and caressed and stroked to pillowy satisfaction. I’m sure if they knew, my pillows would elbow me unceremoniously and say, “I’ll have what they’re having.”
But I must confess, I don’t care enough about it. Maybe I should blame my mother for not schooling me in the ways of the flunff. Maybe my children will blame me for not setting a good example.
All kidding aside, I must confess I’ve lost interest in the whole home décor thing. Yup, let me say it can happen. You can be a hard-core decorator all your adult life and then one day your passionate desire for new paint chips and lampshades and silk drapes can just fritter away, leaving you bored and indifferent. It’s not just your pillows that won’t be able to remember the last time they were flunffed. Should I worry about my low flunff-drive??? Do they make a pill for that?