Have you ever heard me complain about my sofa? If you have, then you're sick of it. I called it a couch in more recent times. FYI "sofa" means you care, whereas "couch" means you've given up on quality seating in life. A couch is merely a catch all for pencils, candy wrappers, missing socks and dry dog food. Wondering where all your good gel pens go? The couch. A couch will suck the life out of whatever you possess and has a "Feed me, Seymour" mentality. A couch will make you shake your head in disgust when everything in your home is party-ready and this is your one child who refuses to get out of bed and shower, all slouchy and lazy with its back cushions doing meth. I need a sofa in my life. Something firm, perky and full of life. Something that gets up in the morning and shaves her legs. My couch hasn't worn a bra in at least a year. Almost weekly one of my dogs would throw up on the couch. You know your couch is a couch when your dogs throw up on it. So I got rid of my couch this past week, trashed the sucker, and bid it farewell as it was hauled off. It took a bird shitting on it for me to kick it out. I mean, I know bird shit was beyond the couch's control, but you should have seen the couch just sitting there in my great room- speckled with bird shit and not really caring. My couch was cool with being covered in shit. Covered in shit and not giving one shit. That's my couch! (I wrote that like Forrest Gump says, "That's my boat!")
Backstory: I went into work last Saturday and Breana called me to say a bird flew in with the dogs. I advised her to keep the door open and try to shoo it out before she left for the day with a friend. But not before I said, "Well, you know what this means- we have to name it." We seem to name everything. I returned that evening to find Breana & her friend watching a Twilight movie marathon and the back door wide open.
"Breana? Is Freddy gone?" I asked.
Without looking up from her new Edward Cullen obsession, she replied, "No, he's in the foyer..."
Like he was a guest who had stayed one too many days, he was "in the foyer." Just hanging out "in the foyer". Freddy finally found his way out but not before he shit on everything during his enclosed 8 hour visit, including the couch.
Breana was unhappy the couch had left us this week. I pulled in the antique wood-framed sofa with its cute pillows from the front living room to suffice but it's my go-to afternoon nap sofa (when the opportunity strikes) and it sucks to watch tv on or write a story on my laptop about velvet sofas. It's only temporary and that's what I keep telling Breana. Couch was never on the new house roster. Never. It had to go. Below is a montage of my sofa crushes from the past year. They all feature velvet. We all have a type. Maybe velvet is not the most practical of fabrics but I have two slub velvet accent chairs and they've been the absolute best so my goal is to velvet it up with a sofa and some drapery panels. And if you think that's too much velvet, I don't care. I know that velvet Jesus has my back.
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