A tale of two Couches

There comes a time in a relationship when things get serious. The first serious step is cohabitation. At least it was for me. But an even greater commitment occurs when your relationship goes to the next lever. No, not marriage or kids. I'm talking about buying furniture.

When Rossana and I moved into the big farmhouse years ago, we arrived with a large sectional sofa that I'd bought from some cousins. It had seem many better days. Its appearance was not improved by my friend Ander sat down on the couch back after finishing the move and "Anderizing" it.

It was clear that furniture was needed. We shopped around and eventually went to Value City (because we were, basically, poor) and bought a sofa and loveseat. It is here that I will stop our tale and give a mea culpa. Those of you who know me know that I posses a fairly good sense of decorating style. It's been said that if only I had been born gay I would have had a very successful career as an interior designer. This great style sense led me to push for a lovely couch with turned wooden feet and brass nails in tan with tapestry accent pillows. We bought it and hauled it home and the second we set it in place and I laid my ass upon it I realized I had made a terrible mistake. This was the most uncomfortable couch in the history of furniture. Torquemada could have used this furniture to extract confessions of blasphemy. It literally tried to force me out of it every time I sat down. It's material felt like sandpaper to me. Rossana was, of course, oblivious. But she has always led a Spartan existence. But I hated this couch, with a passion that burns like Latin love. And it hated me.

Years pass. We move again. The couched look fine in our home. But things start to slip. One day Rossana mentions that the couch 'isn't as comfy as it could be'.

"Oh really?" I respond demurely, as if I'd never really noticed.

Quickly I put a plan into action. While down in southern Ohio we went to a Big Lots (cheapo closeout store) and I had her sit down with me on a nice, ugly modern sofa while I 'rested my back' for a few moments. Slowly it dawned on my beloved wide. Her eyes begand to slowly close and she smiled slightly.

"What is it dearest?" I asked.

"This couch is soooo comfy."

"Is it? I suppose it is. Much better than our couches at home. And look, they're on sale!" I pushed the price display over to her with my toe.

She looked at the price, it was actually very reasonable. We'd shopped for furniture before, browsing Arhouse Furniture and other trendy couchetoriums. But those were mere flights of fancy. Two years ago we could have bought our house, or a lamp and an end table from one of these places. This was Big Lots.

We went home and I called the local stores. The nearest one had a set in stock. I laid out my case;

"Dear, when we last bought furniture I chose style over comfort and I was frankly dead wrong. We sit on these couches, nap on them, have guests sleep on them, shouldn't they at least not cause rashes and bleeding, if not be somewhat comfy?"

In the end, she kindly agreed. We looked over our finances and agreed we could do it. Of course, nothing can go without incident. The local Big Lots had the couch, but it was the wrong material. We had to drive out to Norwalk Ohio but we got 'em. After much grunting and heaving they are now safely installed in our living room and they are sooooooo nice. I mean it's reeeeeally nice. I may just sleep on it tonight. The Old loveseat is in the Moroccan room, where it replaced an even more uncomfortable futon. The couch? Its on our porch now and we're trying to sell it off. If you're a massochist and have a few bucks to spend or you want to torture a friend with a +4 Couch of Discomfort drop me a line.