I cleaned the living room today. I didn't just vacuum around the furniture. I. Moved. The. Couch. It's a big, low white couch. I love that couch which I stole from the Bloomingdale's outlet store. I use the word stole because there was a 93% markdown which I'm sure was a mistake made by a disgruntled worker. The $2600 couch which was white and gorgeous and filled with down was marked down to $200. No, it did not have a big red stain on it. It had nothing but beautifulness and supreme comfort.
No matter how much money comes my way, the couch stays forever. Today I took the couch cushions out on the deck and beat the dust out of them. Then I vacuumed them with something called an upholstery attachment which I had to look on the internet to see what it looked like. Yep. I had three of them from various vacuums.
It was then that I decided to move the couch and take care of the space of floor under it. Holy mother of god It was as if I had fallen through a secret door and gone to Narnia. There was an entire universe going on under the couch. Stages of life lived and ended. There was a cubic yard of dust that had height as well as width. But Oh. So. Much. More. There were pencils and quarters and Monopoly money and guitar picks and crayon stubs and the "shoe" and the "house" from Zingo. (You don't know Zingo? There was a tax bill several peanuts, a pacifier and four red paper clips strung together.
I don't have the gift of housekeeping. I don't have the gift of shopping or cooking. I'm not a visual person. I'm not juiced up by sunsets or panoramic views. However I do like to see a good result when I spend an hour cleaning up the living room and even though I had hand dusted the floor (after vacuuming) the room looked exactly the way it had looked before. It looked exactly the same except I knew it was clean and slick under the couch. And the couch looked like it cost $2600.
|You look marvelous, darling|