Hands to self

While folding laundry last night I noticed someone had scratched an X into the back of my leather couch.

That someone is more than likely someone under the age of 11. Someone who lives in this house. Someone who hears on a weekly if not daily basis,"If it's not yours then don't touch it." Someone who will not catch the wrath, because I am so mad I am speechless.

I have banned all of the younger set from our living room. And it is a living room, not a parlor. We live in it. We play games in it. We practice our music in it. We dump all our luggage in it after long car trips. Fold laundry, visit, unwrap presents at Christmas and hunt for eggs at Easter. We read, listen to music, admire our leg lamp while sitting in it. We use it for homework, spreading papers and books out on the floor. Occasionally we dust and vacuum it.

Sheepishly, no one admitted to the deed. And my final words: It's as if I took a Sharpie and put a big X on your lovely Barbie pink backpack.