I don’t think it is a really good thing to grow up in a house with clear plastic covers on the living room soft fabric furniture. It just might be psychologically unsettling with questions about parental love. It’s hard, cold and uncomfortable. I did and recall looking longingly through the plastic to the beautiful, soft, fabric beneath, that which I could never, ever touch. If I wanted to take a nap on the couch, I would put my socked feet (because we always had to take our shoes off at the door) on the plastic, only to hear my mother tell me to get my feet off the couch. I would say, “Mom, my soft socks are on the hard, cold, noisy plastic.” “Don’t get smart, young man. We aren’t rich and I want the couch to last a long time.” Yes, it has all lasted a long time — at least the memory. I still get chilled just thinking about lying on that couch even in the middle of summer. Oh, I’m sorry; that’s when I slid around and got stuck to the clear, cold, hard, noisy plastic.