After many delays, our new sofa was finally delivered yesterday! I was excited to sit on it, test it out in all its new-ness glory, and stand back and admire it.
We have needed a new sofa for a loooooong time. The old one has no springs left, no cushion, and it’s like sitting directly on the frame. As soon as you sit down, the couch starts to devour you, pulling you deeper and deeper into its clutches until you can’t stand up without an all-out rescue mission and the Jaws of Life.
Once the new sofa was here, I thought it would be easy to give the old one the heave-ho out the door like trash. But now that it’s time to part with it, I actually feel sad.
The old sofa is Gary’s. We merged our furniture when we moved in together, and despite our differences in tastes, our stuff actually came together and played together quite well.
For the past four and a half years, the rickety old couch of Gary’s has been a wrestling mat, a snuggle spot, and an amusement park (when Gary sat on the floor, let the kids charge him, and he flipped them over his head onto the couch). I liked tucking into the corner of one arm, wrapped in a blanket, and reading until I felt drousy, or quietly watching a candle flicker in a dim room. I have cheered and torn my hair out watching hockey on that couch. The couch has been a nurse’s station when one of the kids felt sick but didn’t want to miss all the action by laying down in the bedroom.
I’m going to miss the old couch.
The cats must feel the same way. Instead of inspecting the new sofa up and down like nosy cats are prone to do, I caught them curled up instead on the old one, tucked in tightly against the pillow.
I suppose that leaves us with just one thing to do: make more memories with the new one.