Treasures Underneath the Couch

Any house I’ve ever lived in will tell you I’m not the best wife it’s ever had. Clean windows, walls and woodwork don’t get top billing very often. Still, when it comes to cleanliness, I have my standards. Take cleaning underneath the couch. I do it regularly, without fail, every time it needs it. Trouble is, unless unpleasant odors start coming from the direction of the couch, I’m never sure when the moment it needs it has arrived. So I have to guess. With very few exceptions, it doesn’t need it today.

There’s an order to cleaning underneath the couch. First, pick a time when nobody’s around. Hey . . . I have my pride. I don’t mind moving the couch by myself. Really. What I mind is being on the receiving end of the question, "When was the last time you cleaned under this thing?"

Besides . . . moving the couch myself gives me first dibs on any of the hidden treasures. Some of them might actually have value. Like the time I discovered a sealed package of M and M’s and a coupon for a free pizza. I even found a dollar bill once.

After I’ve pushed and tugged the couch from its usual spot, I survey the results and blush. Alright, alright. So the cleaning IS a wee bit overdue.

A glance at the accumulation of . . . shall we say miscellaneous . . . makes me wonder why I keep family scrapbooks. I should just gather the whole mess into a plastic bag and label it "Family Fun . . . 2001." But then, I suppose it isn’t fair to expose posterity to that much raw honesty.

After I recover from the embarrassment, I gather up the valuables and put them away. Like the extra set of car keys we’ve spent weeks searching for. The screwdriver my husband needed last weekend when he was attempting to fix the dryer. A shoe horn. A little ceramic bear with a magnet for a tummy. The black button that’s been missing from my coat, and the overdue library book that has a fine of $11.85.

That leaves the uncontested junk that’s too big for the vacuum cleaner. There’s the earthly remains of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A chicken bone. A snowman made out of marshmallows, toothpicks and raisins. A dried up magic marker and a couple of broken birthday candles. After depositing all that stuff into the garbage, there’s not much left to get excited about but vacuuming and wiping down the woodwork.

As anxious as I was to move the couch by myself, I can wait for the last straggler to arrive home before asking for help to push it back into place. That way, everyone in the family gets a chance to survey all that clean and appreciate the real me.