Here’s What Bugs Me

About the time I turned twelve years old, things started to bother me.  More precisely, things “bugged” me.  I recall, somewhere in that age, walking down Main Street in my little home town of East Helena and announcing to my pals Mark and Bill that a certain song receiving near constant play on AM radio “bugged me.”

I don’t recall the exact song now, but I recall Mark saying, “Yeah, well, everything bugs you, Mitch.”

Mark had a point.

The war in Vietnam bugged me be.  Kids who “borrowed” bicycles from people’s yards, rode them to the other end of town, and dropped them bugged me.  It bugged me that trout didn’t always bite (and I could see them there in Prickly Pear Creek).  Being forced to wash dishes bugged me.  Windy days bugged me.

My list was long.

These days, I have whittled down my list of grievances.  I allow only a few things to bother me.  Grievances have a certain weight and you can carry only so many.  At present, I am most bothered by MyPillow.

Not my pillow. 

MyPillow.

Hold on there.

Don’t panic yet.  I am not disparaging the product.  The pillows themselves might be just fine.  What bothers me are the ubiquitous, hourly, loud, overly-exuberant, in-your-face, fluffy, too bright, drubbing, and never-ending advertisements on television, in print, and even popping up where porn at one time inexplicably popped up on my computer.

The advertisements are so maddening, so overwhelming, I am sometimes tempted to purchase one of the pillows.

That really bugs me.

--Mitchell Hegman