This is a situpon.
It’s a seat cushion made from a slab of foam rubber, wrapped in vinyl and laced around the edges. They are a convenient camp craft for uncoordinated Girl Scouts, as well as a buffer between dry butts and the wet log seating at the Friendship Fire Circle.
My own situpon sparkles with second-grade elegance, mostly in the form of rainbow yarn. It’s just a shame that the Lisa Frank stickers peeled off. I went in search of it at my parents’ house yesterday because I am greatly in need of something to sit upon. (Everybody now: “Oh, I get it!”)
I am currently sharing my car with a transportationally-challenged friend. It gets pretty hot in there because of August, and by the time I take over, the plush driver’s seat has absorbed a fair amount of butt-sweat. I do not want to wick it up. I know that a clean, honest little rump puddle can’t hurt me, but that knowledge does not make me more enthusiastic about secondhand moisture.
Luckily my scouting days taught me to be prepared, and also I can count on my mother never to throw anything away.
The trouble with seeking my situpon is that I can picture storing it pretty much anywhere. It’s like one of those hypothetical devices for remembering prepositions.
I am sitting on the thing right now, and I’m still thinking of places to look for it. I also feel like singing a few verses of “Flicker of the Campfire.”