You Can’t Be Serious – [Dis]cushions concerning a crowded couch …

Some of you may say, ‘that fellow is way too touchy for my liking’, or ‘hasn’t he little to bother him’, after you read this week’s rant. But, dear readers, have you never experienced the feeling of something irritating you for a very long time without being able to put your finger exactly on the problem? It just eats away at you until someday, the root cause of your unhappiness hits you like a bolt out of the blue.

This is what happened to me last week – and I did get some temporary relief, which I shall tell you about in a moment.

Clearly the niggling irritant has been present for some time before I finally cracked. I don’t know if it was getting worse, or I am getting more contrary, but by its very nature, there was always going to be a cumulative build up.

My problem is cushions! My house is full of cushions; all sorts of cushions from all over the world. There are round cushions, square cushions, scatter cushions, silk & satin cushions, cuddly cushions and floral cushions. You could sit down on Jaw’s teeth, the island of Cuba, the back of a Canadian Black Bear, or into the face of a beautiful Spanish Flamingo Dancer.

Some came here as full-blown cushions; others as cushion covers to be filled with, feathers, wool, polyester, and even stuffed with paper fragments. Now I am being crowded out of my own house by cushions!

Mrs Youcantbeserious appears to love cushions: I say, ‘appears’, because this problem has never been discussed in Casa Comaskey – until after I found the temporary relief last week. This is how the row started:

Mug of coffee in one hand and piece of buttered brack in the other, I opened the room door with my foot and backed my butt towards the settee, where the intention was that I would jockey myself into a sitting position for the kick-off between Liverpool and Rangers. Here I found that there wasn’t any room for me to sit down – with cushions piled on top of each other, where any man of the house should feel fully entitled to be sitting.

It is precisely at that moment that I became enlightened as to both the significance of the problem and the solution to my long-suffering affliction. I dramatically deposited the coffee and cake on the coffee-table … spilling a small amount of coffee on the cross-word puzzle the wife was working on: Then I ‘fecked’ every cushion within reach onto the middle of the floor. There were 7 of them – just in case you are wondering.

Whoever designed the soft seats in my house knew their job and did it well. It is easy to get comfortable in them. And nowhere is there a label saying, ‘fit another cushion on this spot’ or ‘you need a cushion behind your back’. The chairs are fine as they are – and don’t require to be filled with cushions!

Oh for once … how I enjoyed the sheer bliss of settling into watching a match with such space and comfort!

Now, you all know me and that I am not a violent man or an abusive husband! Since I gave myself the temporary relief from the problem, an impasse has been reached and I need some of you to intercede on my behalf … please!

At half time in the match, I took my mug to the sink, had a pee, washed my hands and returned to my seat … to find all the cushions back on the settee! There was just enough room for me to sit at the end of the seat. Mrs Youcantbeserious sat in an armchair at the other end, the crossword on her lap and that malevolent look on her face. Yes, Gorls, I just sat down quietly …

If Angela McNamara or ‘Dear Frankie’ were still around I could write to one of them and ask for advice. ‘Dear Frankie, I think my wife is suffering from a bad case of cushion fetish, what should I do?’

At the end of the good weather, I cleared all the outdoor furniture over to the big shed. It didn’t take long … apart from the cushions! Cushions belonging to the egg-chair, the lounger, the benches … the full of a transport box!

I’m almost finished here now and I’ll head up to bed: A bed with two pillows on my side and two pillows on the side of my beloved. You are not going to believe this, but dividing the four pillows, right in the centre is another bloody cushion …!

Don’t Forget – When a wise man argues with his wife he says nothing.