My first week living in Spain, I was determined to get a Spanish husband to replace the one I’d left in the US. I’d lived and slept with that husband for almost a decade and I knew he was Spanish because he’d been my grandfather’s before he was mine. And I couldn’t sleep without him.
As one of the most important things on my To Do list upon arrival, I boldly walked into a place that might have what I was looking for and, in not very good-yet Spanish, asked, “Do you have husband pillows?” and got met with blank stares and possibly bawdy comments. I’m not sure, I didn’t understand what anyone was saying.
Looking back, there are so many things I did wrong, the first of which was translating directly. Rookie mistake but it was still my first season in the Spanish League so I give myself a pass on that. The bigger error was in not thinking through the acquisition of the original husband. It had been my grandfather’s, but not in Spain, it was from when he came to the US, meaning that my mother probably bought it from one of the hundreds of catalogs that used to flood our house. If I’d come to this realization sooner, I would have known that I was never going to find a replacement in Spain and wouldn’t have made a fool of myself in numerous establishments. Not that I really care about looking dumb/crazy.
So, I gave up the search because questing is awesome if you’re on a hero’s journey, but totally demoralizing if you’re just looking for something that you know you’ll never find.
Of course, the French are more civilized, so it could be that they have husbands here and I should start looking for one again. But I know I’ll always be attached to my first one, so maybe I should just think fondly of the one I loved and lost and make do with my Muji pillows.