Wake Up and Smell the Davenport

Day nine of “the move, and I still am sleeping on the couch.

I like my couch. It is very soft and inviting.

I like my Grandma too. She too is very soft and inviting. Still …

My couch smells faintly of stale Cheetos, gas, and the various lotions and soaps that have softened, cleansed, and perfumed those that have come before me. It doesn’t stink of these things, or, obviously, I would get a new couch. I am NOT a barbarian (evidenced mostly by the fact that they had nice warm animal pelts to snuggle into a night). And, for the most part, my pillow, the one from my bed that I have used for years and that only smells like my various soaps and lotions, serves as a shield between the faint odors of my davenport and my nightly sojourn into the suspension of consciousness.

However, last night, I fell asleep on the couch without setting up my settee’s scent shield. I was watching a movie with my daughter and simply fell off of the cliff of consciousness without proper preparation. I thought I had been using the pillow for comfort and correct spinal alignment. I was wrong.

This won’t be happening again.

I don’t know who attempted to eat the Cheeto on the couch that ended up becoming part of the molecular goulash that dominated the bouquet of my imagination last night, but I am definitely restricting the consumption of food in my living room from now on. Can you imagine if it had been jalapeno chips or garlic bagel bites? It makes me cringe just to contemplate the visions that would have visited my subconscious riding the express train of those gastrointestional horrors.

Grandmas’ sofa cushions probably smell like blueberries and passion fruit. When company leaves, I bet they unzip the clear plastic covers and breathe in the exotic scents they hide from guests. The secret scent of Grandmas everywhere getting the last laugh.

If my Grandma has to sleep on her couch, I bet she dreams of exotic places and my Grandpa, the love of her life, as a strapping young man.

Wisdom comes in stops and starts, but I wish I didn’t have wait until 40 to  finally wake up and smell the davenport.

© 2025 Maria L. P. Boynton, All Rights Reserved.