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Underneath


Today I had the distinct pleasure of looking under the couch. Now why on earth you might be wondering, would she put herself through such torture. Well it's quite simple really, I was looking for the remote.

The kids wanted to watch a movie and the parental locks are on the DVD player. This means you have to have the remote so that you can input the proper code. It's really pointless, since the kids know the code and it means scrambling around trying to find the remote. But the stupid thing keeps forgetting that I've unlocked the parental settings and tends to revert to them.

So there we were, searching in the bookshelves, the TV armoire, the dresser, but the remote was nowhere to be found. I bravely told my son to look under the couch. He took a quick glance, said, "Nope." and moved on. At first I allowed this to pass. Until it became evident that the remote was hiding.

Down on my knees I go, my cheek touches carpet and I gasp. There was no room under there! The toys and garbage were tremendous and I immediately felt like a terrible housewife. If that weren't enough, my darling son picked up the cushion and looked IN the couch. Another gasp escaped my lips.

It's probably important at this point to note that I am a sight cleaner. 'Outta sight, outta mind' that's my motto. So the inside of the couch is not a place I often clean, but once I have seen the dirt, it must be dispelled.

Now were it not for the fact that my dear boy remembered where he had put the remote last time, he probably would have been sitting there while I tore into the couch. What a sight I must have been, pulling out every sort of thing, mumbling to myself or outright crying in excitement.

"B's lost necklace! Oh, she'll be so happy."

"What!? How on earth did that end up in here?"

Or at the height of my shame, "How...." tugging with all my might, "on... earth... did a.... coloring book.... end.... up... in....here!"

Yes, I am not joking. Evidently my couch has enough hidden space for a coloring book to hide so completely that I had to run my fingers through the back to find it. I'm now wondering about that missing cat down the street.

Regardless of what was found in and under my couch, I can proudly say that it is now clean! The vacuum has been over it, and my hands have dug out nearly everything that could possibly hide in there, except money. To my disappointment, I only found ten cents.

Comments

Sara Crandall said…
It's amazing how much dust & vacuum fodder was under our couches when we moved.
Lisa said…
Whoa Mama! What are you gonna do with your 10 cents?

It's always an adrenaline rush to stick your hand into a couch. You never know what may be lurking.
cannwin said…
Lisa,
Yeah, really. I usually make Robert go in first, it's kinda like the garbage disposal, if it something goes in there it's as good as gone.

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Mutterings of a Middle-Aged Dreamer

Use your words, my dear sweet soul, they are inside of you... So find them. Write, you silly girl, write so hard the world will never forget you.
But does it matter if the world remembers you? 
Age begins to press its hands upon your chest and the need to be remembered seems to increase with the pressure. 
Stop.
That's not a line of thought you're interested in pursuing. 
Live in the now.
Does it matter if the world remembers you if your neighbor is going hungry? 
Perhaps age is merely pushing you out the door. 
Go. Live in the now.