Look at those cushions. Plumped to within an inch of their life. A wee tip. If you have been sitting on your fat backside all day with your snout in a bag of kettle chips and you suddenly look at the clock and realise that your loved ones will be home in T minus 5 minutes, plump the cushions.
That's all it takes.
There can be six inches of stoor on the skirting board and a decomposing kebab on the hall table, but if your cushions are plumped no-one will care. Dirt schmirt, who gives a monkey's? Plump 'em up and it's tidy.
The only danger is that they look so goooood, so pristine, so fresh, so unsullied by the neighbourhood posteriors. In short, you can become addicted to a plumped cushion. If you find yourself addressing visitors thus;
"Do come in. How lovely to see you! Gosh, isn't it chilly? Brrr. Come in and get warm! Me casa es su casa JESUS CHRIST! WHO SAID YOU COULD SIT DOWN?! STAND UP! STAND UP! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU FILTHY LITTLE COMMUNIST!!"
or words to that effect, you may have a problem.
Likewise, barbed wire, "KEEP OFF" signs, trap doors, cross bows triggered when arse touches cushion, all of these can be warning signals that you've crossed a certain line.
Still, when properly executed there is nothing like a plumped cushion for giving the illusion of an ordered home. You're welcome.
(First posted on my other blog http://therealshequeen.tumblr.com/ on 6 May 2012)
I suspect you of being my mother reincarnate. She had the gift of being at the sofa you'd just left, plumping those cushions banshee fashion, before you'd got your hand on the doorknob to leave the room and go for that poo. Or whatever you planned to spend the next few minutes doing.
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