Slipcover Serenade

I was sitting in the dentist's office waiting to be seen after waiting eighteen months for an appointment when I came across a magazine ad for slipcovers. I've been so wrapped up in other domestic issues such as kitchen deconstruction, the eccentricities of flooring, and debt problems, I mean deck problems, that I haven't given slipcovers as much attention as they deserve.

So after the novacaine wore off, I drove to the library and checked out every book I could find on these wonderful masters of disguise.

I learned that the first slipcovers were made of chintz fabric that was discovered in India in the 1700s by a group of French decorators. Faster than you can say "insouciant" society's upper crusts were clamoring for chintz slipcovers to protect their expensive silk and brocade upholstery.

By the 1950s mini-slipcovers had become all the rage in American kitchens as ingenious camouflage for small appliances. No one was fooled.

In the 1980s English designer Rachel Ashwell (of Shabby Chic fame) revolutionized home decorating with her practical and attractive slipcovers. Millions of people followed he

r lead-and today slipcovers are important elements in home decorating, rivaling only carpeting in their ability to evoke passionate feelings. Everyone agrees-slipcovers are magical. With just a few yards of fabric a slipcover can camouflage outdated upholstery, mask unmentionable animal stains, and transform a 1970s Brady Bunch living room into an Italian bordello in the twinkling of an eye.

Slipcovers are also ideal for people who fear the long-term commitment of upholstery. They are easily installed without glue or nails and are not shrouded in mystery like electricity, plumbing or wallpapering. Best of all-they come in a million different styles, sizes and fabrics.

Ready-made slipcovers, available in everything from denim to matelassé can be purchased for around a hundred dollars. Custom-made covers cost anywhere from $150 to 2.3 million for an autographed celebrity slipcover.

There are also many do-it-yourself slipcover manuals on the market. Sunset's Simply Slipcovers, a captivating step-by-step guide with twenty illustrated designs and patterns, is one of the best.

There are three species of slipcovers-ones that look like a Shar-pei puppy just-up-from-its-nap, the hug your furniture like an Eighteen-Hour Playtex bra type or the high maintenance insanity provoking drape and tuck models.

My first slipcover exposure was in 1968 when Mother purchased a form fitting, oversize blue floral polyester print to cover a wing chair whose upholstery had flown south.

"It looks kinda small, Mom. Are you sure it'll fit?" My sister Janie asked.

"I measured twice, dear. It'll be fine. Here, help me with the cushion."

What followed next was classic "I Love Lucy" material. It was as if the chair had swallowed steroids-ballooning up to twice its size. As Janie and Mother tried to coax the slipcover over the swollen upholstery, I was reminded of the time I tried to squeeze into my pantyhose after I'd eaten too many salted peanuts.

They finally gave it up. The slipcover was obviously the wrong size for the wing chair's flying buttresses. Mother threw a crocheted afghan over it and never spoke of the affair again.

She'd recovered enough by 1974 to make another attempt at slipcovering-this time with an ottoman. I wasn't there, but later heard the family whispering about the "ottoman incident." They clammed up when Mother came in the room, so something must have gone dreadfully wrong.

With a family history like that it was no surprise that my sister Jane grew up to be a slipcover obsessive. Over the years she owned many-from her first cabbage rose with welted edges to a brown woolly terror that even the cat hated.

The poor girl was a slave to her slipcover. She spent hours tucking, straightening, and readjusting it; she stopped inviting people over for fear her slipcover wouldn't behave itself and eventually she quit her job to devote herself to it fulltime.

When Jane started singing lullabies to her slipcover, Mother and I intervened. We bought her a custom-made snug-fitting slipcover in classic cotton duck and paid two decorators to install it. She was thrilled.

My sister is now fully recovered from "Slipcover Syndrome," and Mother, well she's heavily involved in upholstery. As for me, I dream of the day I'll have a slipcover of my very own-something in a practical white linen for the toaster to start, then I think I'll go with a scarlet damask on the sofa and ottoman. Or would toile work better next to those curtains? No, wait, what about chintz…

Slipcover sources:

Online:
Potato Skins Slipcovers (Potatoskins.com). Tailored and casual covers from your fabric or theirs.
Todo Es (Todoes.com). Computer generated slipcovers that "fit like a glove."
Slipcovers.com. Clearinghouse with links to numerous slipcover-related sites.
Klassykovers.com. Nifty nautical slipcovers for resin patio chairs and tables.
Surefit.com. The company that sponsors the annual Ugly Couch Contest. Visit the site to see if your sofa qualifies-there's a $2,000 grand prize!

Madcap Mary Mendoza, formerly known as Hurricane Mary, lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, son, three cats and 200,000 Sunset magazines.

Madcap's humor columns and feature stories have appeared in publications around the Northwest as well as online. She is the author of The Adventures of Madcap Mary, a collection of humorous stories. Madcap can be reached at madcapmary@comcast.net. Her Web site will premiere soon at: http://www.madcapmary.com.