Saturday night I was stretched out on the couch and, for whatever reason, I shoved my head down between the two sofas that make up the L-shaped sectional. I don't know why. I could make something up, like I thought I saw a quarter down there but that would be a lie and I do enough of that during my weather forecasts. No, I just did it. Not only is that a sad commentary on what my Saturday nights have come to, but it led to major consequences. From my new, odd vantage point, I could tell that under the sofas was a land of lost legos, discarded candy wrappers, dust bunnies on steroids, the pens and pencils I can never find when I'm on the phone taking a message and several gooey, stinky items, the origins of which are best left unknown. I decided to move the sofas and vacuum. That led to taking the mattress...if you can still call it that...out of the sleeper side of the couch and cleaning it. At this stage of the game, the "Do Not Remove This Tag" tag is slightly thicker than the mattress itself. This is not the "fun" kind of cleaning because nobody is going to see the fruits of your labors but I figured it should be done, if only to keep the HazMat teams away from the front door.

In the middle of this frenzy, my wife walked in and decided to take advantage of the disarray to rearrange the furniture. With the help of the kids, we ended up moving a piano once, a sofa three times, a chair down some stairs, another chair to a different room, taking links out of a hanging lamp, and considered sliding the fridge into the hall by the kids' rooms just to save them steps in their apparently continual buffet line. When I looked up it was going on 1:00 a.m.

The end result is that we do have a slightly different looking living room with a very confused couple of dogs wandering around trying to find where they're supposed to recline. Our spoiled Golden Retriever can't quite get to the floor vent anymore and that is where, especially during these very hot days, he like to sprawl. He may actually be on the power company payroll. Also, our oldest son, who doesn't like change, is still whimpering and bumping into furniture.

There really is no point to my telling you this, but when has that ever stopped me. I have only one bit of advice: don't stick your head between the sofas and if you get the urge to vacuum, fight it with every fiber of your being.