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There was a time - it wasn't that long ago - when America was a simpler place.

Kids with names like "Buddy" and "Sis" raced home from school to be embraced by mothers, who would give them cookies and milk and watch with heads cocked fondly to one side as the children ran into the living room to watch cartoons.

The girl from the country who helped mom with housekeeping - usually named "Wanda" or "Velma" - would say. "Those young'uns of y'orn are as cute as peahens!" Mom would say, "Thank you Wanda or Velma - now wash the storm windows." She knew how to keep the hired help in line. A careless tone of familiarity could trigger expectations of a $5 tip at Christmas, setting off a vicious wage-price spiral that would destroy the life savings of the middle class.

But those days are gone. Today, the boy and girl who round the corner and hurtle into the living room, turning salchow-style in mid-air so that they end up on the couch facing the TV, are in for a rough landing.

Because Mom has drunk at the fountain of feminine fulfillment - try saying that five times fast - and now elevates home furnishing over the simple needs of her family. The couch is covered with throw pillows, and milk and cookies go flying all over the place, leading to screams of dismay - "I just bought that Provencal print pillow at Pottery Barn!" - recriminations, tears, corporal punishment and a decline in standardized test scores.

Or consider dad. He's had a hard day down at Acme Pneumatic Drills. He's read the paper, smoked his pipe, laughed at Jackie Gleason, and is getting tired. "I think I'm going to call it a day, sweetie. You coming to bed?"

"I just want to watch Imogene Coca, then I'll be right up," mom says.

"Okay," dad says. He trudges up the stairs, changes into pajamas, brushes his teeth and is all set to "hit the hay" when his tired eyes turn to his bed and see a stack of throw pillows piled high like the aftermath of an avalanche down a mountain populated by interior decorator trolls.

"Arrgh!" he screams, in the manner of Henry II. "Will no one rid me of these troublesome pillows?"

Dad doesn't dare touch the pillows himself. He knows he'll only get in trouble. He waits until the little woman comes running upstairs, removes the pillows from the bed and arranges them just so. By the time she's done, it's time to go to work. Just thank your lucky stars that dad isn't the pilot on your 7:30 a.m. flight to Dallas.

Nervous environmental nellies complain about global warming, which in the worst-case scenario isn't going to drown anybody until 2525. America's throw pillow crisis affects people right now! If present trends continue, the entire North American continent will be covered with throw pillows by 2017.

What are the tell-tale signs that throw pillow inundation may soon leave you "under chintz," as climatologists say? Here is a dishwasher-safe list you can keep handy as the ruffles start to rise around you:

Decorating magazine "creep." Throw-pillow "rampages" are, in fact, much rarer than supermarket tabloids would have you believe. Most instances of throw pillow-cide are premeditated, the end result of an interior decorating scheme gone horribly awry. How can you tell if your wife is planning a large-scale pillow purchase? The appearance of stacks of decorating magazines around the house. "Just as caterpillars have thicker fur before a cold winter," says Ray Suggins, Jr. of the Missouri Department of Fish and Game, "a pile of decorating magazines is a sign that throw pillows are on their way."

There's a throw pillow in the cat's bed. Throw pillow "junkies" like to conceal their habit by off-loading excess pillows to places where they will escape detection. "Cats are colorblind, so giving them a preppy plaid throw pillow is a waste of money," says Marci Standler of Creative Impressions, a home design consultancy in Wellesley, Mass. "I would stick to neutral tones - taupe and oyster."

There's no room for your snowblower in the garage. Throw pillows can brighten up any room, but the garage isn't a "room." "Decorating a garage, tool room or 'guy town' basement with throw pillows is considered grounds for divorce in many western states," says domestic relations attorney Earl Grealy, Jr., and the trend is spreading.

"A man needs a place where his bad taste can run free," Grealy says, "and a chintz throw pillow is going to clash with his poker dogs poster."

- Con Chapman

Con Chapman is a Boston-area writer whose works include The Year of the Gerbil, a history of the 1978 Yankees-Red Sox pennant race, 10 published plays and two novels, Making Partner and CannaCorn (Joshua Tree Publishing). His articles and humor have appeared in magazines and newspapers including The Atlantic Monthly, The Boston Globe and The Christian Science Monitor.