Thursday, November 06, 2008

What lies beneath the couch cushions

I don't pretend to be a perfect housekeeper. My house is always basically clean, but sometimes, there is dried-up macaroni cheese stuck to the side of the coffee table and I don't notice it until after the guests who sat right in front of that coffee table all evening have gone home.

Other times, I really can't be blamed for a display of unkemptness. If, at the last minute, Jeremy decides to pull out the couch so our guests can have a better view of a movie we're watching, is it my fault if I didn't anticipate that? Can I be looked down on just because under the couch there are sundry "treasures," such as small toy airplanes, refrigerator magnets, hair clips, uncapped markers, and stray Cheerios, now revealed for the world to see? I don't think so.

Right now, there is a couch-cushion horror story just waiting to happen. A few weeks ago (yes, weeks), I was bringing out all the hand-wash laundry and I set a pair of socks on the couch just for a moment. When I turned back to collect them, only one of them was there.

This was vaguely terrifying to me. These socks were very dirty, and now one of them was missing in the vicinity of my couch, threatening to pop up at an inopportune moment (see dried-up macaroni and cheese, above). I had to find that sock! First, I did a cursory search for them and came up with nothing. I went back and checked in my bedroom to see if I'd dropped it there. Nothing. Then I looked all around the couch and under the cushions. Still nothing.

It's been a while now and I still haven't found that missing sock. I know I brought it out and put it on the couch, but now it is nowhere to be found. With my luck, it will choose to emerge right when some guests make themselves comfortable on the couch. Alternatively, someone else's kid - or our own - could pull it out from some forgotten corner of the living room and run around waving it above their head.

At least I've had some time to prepare myself for the eventuality. And I've learned my lesson: never put dirty socks on the couch, even for a moment. Also: always, ALWAYS, check the coffee table for dried-up macaroni and cheese.

5 comments:

The Ensign's said...

Soooo the question I have is... are these socks hand wash only? What kinda world do you live in that you have to hand wash your socks?

Bridget said...

Ha ha. I guess that's kind of confusing. Click on the "socks" link and you'll see the kind I mean. They're like nylon mini socks or something, that you wear with certain kinds of shoes.

Britney said...

This was expecially funny to me, because the "eventuality" you were referring to actually happened to me today. Only the dirty sock was not found under the couch- it emerged from one of the mysterious corners of our coat closet, discovered by my daughter, who lovingly placed the stinky thing on our guest's lap.

And I thought my house was spotless. :)

onlymehere said...

Somehow I'm picturing this sock with a smile on its face slinking off like a snake to hide in the depths of your couch. Lurking there and waiting for its chance just as you know it will. Hopefully your guests all have families and understand that we live in our homes and things happen. I know my family has embarrased me horribly like you describe before also! Cindy

Marianne said...

Okay, so I know this will be a totally long comment, but the last comment made me think of this song my kids (and I) find hilarious...

Gypsy Sock
James Gordon


I don't like being worn,
That's all I've been since I was born,
A toenail cuts like a knife,
It's a sad sock's life

I don't wanna be stuffed in a drawer
Or stuck in somebody's shoe any more
I don't want a sweaty foot in me
I just want to be free, free, free.

Just let me run with the wild hose,
Where pens and pencils and the car keys go,
I want to dance at the free sock hop
I want to be a gypsy sock
I want to be a gypsy sock

I don't want to be part of a pair,
Or in the wash with all that underwear
Or tickled by somebody's toes,
Or made to walk where socks don't like to go

Like hanging from a line by my heel
Or getting darned, I hate the way that feels
Or getting stretched across a knobby knee
I just want to be free, free, free

I'll run with the wild hose,
Where pens and pencils and the car keys go,
I want to dance at the free sock hop
I want to be a gypsy sock
I want to be a gypsy sock

Gypsy sock, gypsy sock, I want to be a Gypsy sock.

Someday soon I'll take my chance
And I'll hide inside a pair of pants
When they open up the dryer door
I'll escape across the laundry floor

Then I'll be out on the street
Not attached to a pair of feet
Free as the nose that blows
I will be free to go

Where I'll run with the wild hose,
Where pens and pencils and the car keys go,
I'll dance at the free sock hop
I will be a gypsy sock
I will be a gypsy sock
I will be-e-e a gypsy sock

Good luck Bridget. I don't even want to think what's under my couch right now!

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