Judgments, mine and yours

I vacuumed under my couch cushions this morning.

Da clean couch

You see, last weekend one of the adult kiddos was here with a visiting friend. Said friend spent most of the weekend on my couch, relaxing from her hellish semester at college, staring blankly at her phone, and digging her stockinged feet in between the cushions of my couch like they were blankets.

Now, there is nothing wrong with folks who dig their feet in between couch cushions; I’m certain that this can’t be numbered among the more heinous rolls of character flaws.


There is nothing wrong with the couch excavating soul, except for the fact that the couch digger clearly comes from a household where someone regularly—and by regularly, I refer to a time period slightly less than once per decade—vacuumed under the couch cushions of the estate.

That one little detail is a personal affront to the sanctity of my home.

It was a long weekend.

At any given moment, if you had glanced over in my direction, you might have seen poorly veiled expressions of horror. Like the one that involuntarily crosses your face when the choir at church is stricken by a momentary yet collective inability to read music, and suffers an abrupt musical stroke. You know the one. You’re just singing along blissfully and, inexplicably and without warning, your own strident voice is suddenly hanging out there all alone under the chandelier. Your eyes grow wide as you try to reel that akilter note back in. Then they narrow as you fight to reel that look back in.

Anyway, that was the look that was beneath the surface for the bulk of the weekend, as I watched the collegiate socks rummaging around in the depths of the shamefully neglected underbelly of our living room.

So today, when the vacuum was out surveying the landscape of our carpet, I encouraged it to take a peek under those couch cushions.


For those of you who are currently wearing the very expression I describe above in response to my questionable housekeeping practices, please rest easy in the knowledge that we rarely eat in the living room, and even more rarely are found in the belly of our home with our shoes still on our feet. There isn’t much that gets in there. A few kernels of popcorn—with, by the way—the shelf-life of a Twinkie. Two junctionally-located heaps of sand, apparently dropped by beachgoers upon return from the wild waters of Wisconsin sometime in summers past. And a modest collection spiral notebook sheds. Because I have children who lack any regard for the miracle of perforated pages.

Also 2 raisins.

Let’s not talk about the raisins.

My point is that I wasn’t growing penicillin—or anything of a higher order, for that matter—under there.

Please release your constricted facial muscles and go nestle your naked toes in the depths of your sanitized furniture.

And then remember who has the stronger immune system here.

The grandboy is coming over for dinner tonight (He’s bringing his parents and his unborn sibling along). And if he is in the process of developing into one of the more vehement couch-diggers, his little toes will be safe here.

I’ll leave you with a little giggle from Nathan Pyle…

We’ll be having homemade vast dough circles for sustenance tonight. In case you were wondering.

If you need me, I’ll be crossing that couch thing off my To Do list for the twenty-teens.

Visit soon if you’re one of them,

17 thoughts on “Judgments, mine and yours

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  1. That reminds me…I need to vacuum the couch too. It is so hard to keep up with every tiny thing that needs cleaning that is hidden from our views. Every time I move a piece of furniture I haven’t moved in awhile I am always shocked at the dust under there and don’t even get me started on the ceiling fans. So many things to clean all the time.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Another rule of thumb is that if a visitor drops something on the floor near the couch, do not let them look under the couch. I do not know what happens under here. Suffice it to say that dust must multiply through some strange mating process that we do not know about. Hope all is well. Allan

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Housework, I’m one of those strange folks who quite likes it. I have made one notable discovery of late though. Since the demise of my two darling cats, the house stays remarkably clean and free of the dust bunnies that used to swirl when I opened the door to head to bed, always a reminder to vac’ the next morning. I’d still rather have my cats though.Well done with the restraint shown for a whole weekend.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, you’re one of THOSE! I suppose I won’t hold it against you. 🙂 It is true that cats add a little something to the household routine. I haven’t had any in the house for over 13 years. I miss them terribly, but I sure don’t miss all that hair. I think about it every time I try to convince Scott that we need some indoor fluffballs again. He’s pretty allergic, so we’ll probably never go there. 😦 But in the silver linings category, I won’t have to deal with the hairstorm either.


  4. This is a splendid public service announcement for someone like me, who used to have a hard enough time thinking of vacuuming under the cushions when there were lots of young people dropping crumbs and whatnot – now, when there isn’t so much usage, I completely forget about that task.

    But Christmas is coming, and a couple dozen – yes! – people will be using the living room, including young kids who love to remove the cushions for any number of reasons. And after a hundred Christmas presents have been opened, people will need to look under the cushions for missing this and that. I want to see whatever it is now, so they don’t see it then. I’m adding this task to my holiday prep list right now!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I had to cringe enough the last time we had a crowd in the living room opening presents, and I realized that in getting ready for all the people in their pretty Christmas clothes and hairdos, I had forgotten to dust, for heaven’s sake. Even the piano bench, where someone was sitting, and the piano we were singing around, everything had a very visible coat of dust. No one mentioned it, of course. But – it did detract at least a bit from my own fun!

        Liked by 1 person

        1. People are gracious buggers. Which is good. Because in our house, that thin (and I use the word loosely) veneer of dust is just part of the ambiance. Who wants to be blinded by all those glaring surfaces?

          Answer? My kids with dust allergies. 😛


          Liked by 1 person

  5. Too funny! I love blogs like this. I actually vacuum the underbelly of my couch TWICE a decade, or whenever my white glove sister-in-law comes to visit. And you’re right – let’s not talk about raisins. Thanks for the follow.

    Liked by 2 people

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