The Day the Couch Defeated Me

My hand - red, itching and swollen - hastens its retreat from the gaping underbelly of the plush, aged monstrosity lumbering sideways in the centre of my living room.  Its plum hide contrasts garishly with the fir green AstroTurf that is my carpet.

To the side of the gash in the belly of the beast lie the spoils, claimed with much difficulty, and loss of skin.  Today a battle was won, but I fear the war was lost. Among them lie a mouldy pound coin.  How a metal coin moulds, I do not know. Perhaps this foul creature attempted to digest it among its innards. A pen; spent and broken - it will not see another day. Worst of the lot, a dozen crumpled handkerchiefs. I feel nauseated. Hot and unclean. In this rented flat, goodness knows how long these tissues have lain here, how many separate owners they belong to, the mysteries behind why some disgustingly dirty distributer of disgrace would choose to dispose of their snot via the seams of a couch.

The gem of the venture has been placed neatly into a handkerchief (cotton, new, clean, not found down the side of the couch). My 4mm interchangeable needle. Singular. 

Where it's parter is, I cannot tell. I fear he may be lost forever. Little 4mm, trusty needle. Knitting implement of average size yarn. Did you disappear down the couch with your friend, little one? My quest for you ended only in mild allergic dermatitis and despair. 

I shall send a further rescue party tomorrow. I shall brave the unthinkable innards of the couch once more, with rubber gloves ready. I will not surrender.


Update:  I found it!!!!  After, of course, ordering a replacement set.

I placed it in my little teapot, which makes me both happy and sad, as it is a present from Lauren, but only because she is leaving. Sniff.