A Couch Is Not A Bagel

So, after the eleventy million posts on Saturday about my bread obsession, I found it hard to come up with anything else to write about. Then on Sunday, I got sick and all my post would have said was, “Blergh meh uggo yuck!” I still didn’t feel well yesterday, so I lounged on my new purple couch and read a book all evening. Wait… My new purple couch? What do you mean I didn’t tell you about my new purple couch? You’re talking crazy, my friend.  I definitely would have told you about my awesome and exciting new-to-me deep plum extra wide squashy sofa. Unless I was busy preventing the vomitiness. Ah, yes.

Allow me to introduce the most comfortable and amazing thing I have ever owned (that is not a bagel):
Isn’t she puuuurty? If you don’t think she is, please keep it to yourself.  Because I am in love. With. This. Couch.

It was fate. I was just minding my business, carrying a stack of focaccia snowshoes. And then, BAM! There it was. Calmly watching me from the edge of the garage sale. The Couch. I stared.  Then I realized I was staring and I looked away bashfully. Sister nudged me to go over and take a look. I nonchalantly wandered the long way, hoping I wasn’t being too obvious—nothing turns a couch off like obviousness. We touched. I sighed. Kismet. Wait, what?

So, actually, it was the first thing I saw when I drove up, since it was on the front part of the sale (the front edge part, though, so I didn’t technically lie) and was, in fact, a large purple couch. I asked Sister if it was cute (I have very little ability to judge cuteness by myself or to maintain the idea if I did independently think it) and she nodded. I asked if it was ridiculous that I kind of sort of wanted to buy it. She asked where we would put it. I mentally scanned our home and my heart sank a little. I told her it wouldn’t fit anywhere.

Ten minutes later, I was curled up in the corner of the couch, marveling at what good condition it was in and the fact that it didn’t smell like pets or old people. Five minutes after that, Sister was rushing home to measure my bedroom and do some mental rearranging so that I could put it under my window. I sat on the couch and politely stared at anyone who thought about coming near. I even sort of talked a friend out of thinking it could fit into her basement (and I felt only a tiny bit guilty). Thirty minutes after that, with a quick confirmation from Sister that we could make it work, I was on the phone to my father, asking if he could bring his truck so we could take it away. I donated $150 dollars and off we went.

And you cannot tell from the photo, but it doesn’t exactly fit. Yet. But we will make it happen. If I have to spend another $150 dollars on taller, skinnier bookshelves or a new TV that will fit on a smaller TV stand, I’ll do it. That is how much I love this couch.

Amen and good night.

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