The sacred seating shrine, the couch, is a common piece of furniture, often overlooked by all but the savvy interior decorator. It provides us with a seat to rest our weary bodies, and a bed for our homeless friends or insensitive husbands. I find it strange how eerily comfy the common couch is. I know there are the occasional evil couches, with the nasty bits made with the sole purpose of injuring your buttocks, but for the most part I can call couches my friends.
Though there is one part of the couch I cannot help but feel angered by. The cushions who vacuum the contents of our pockets and wallets, and hide said contents within the confines of the Space-Under-The-Cushions. That ancient and mystical land where unknown crumbs and a never ending supply of pencils lie in wait. They wait for the day when the remote goes missing, and the cushions are upturned and thrown about the room in search. And for the less fortunate among us, there are the holes within the Space-Under-The-Cushions, where everything important seems to end up. If you ever find yourself asking, "Where is the..." then by the time you are done with your thought, your mind will be drawn to that black void where all things go to hide.
I must wonder, if the couches of the world were doing this on purpose, would they be doing this to gather a horde of hidden treasures, or to simply help us find our lost items? If we were to take the items from a couch which could speak, would we find it stating, "I was just keeping this here for you." or would it be shouting, "Curses, foiled again!"
Next time you lose your remote or your cellphone, and you look down into that wasteland of couch, think back on the many things which have been found in just that spot, and be grateful that your couch is there to find them.