I never gave any thought to the height of furniture until that damn red couch came to sit in my living room.
My last couch was red. I loved it.
It was wide, and low, and full of comfy ‘fold into me pillows’. Perfect for a nap.
So when I saw this red couch advertised in the paper I had to go look.
I knew before I got to the store that the length was right. I knew I the color was right. The only thing I had to deal with was the sit test, and was it comfy for a nap. I was happy when it passed both.
I could sit on the couch and my feet touched the floor. That’s test number one. Mine did.
I lay down on the couch and though it was a short non-nap nap, it seemed to pass that test also.
Money exchanged hands. A delivery date was set. The deal was done.
The next week the new couch arrived, was placed in the living room, and the living on the new couch commenced.
Something seemed amiss in my idyllic world.
When sitting on the new couch I was almost a foot above the old couch, meaning I was also a foot above the coffee table.
I tried to find the good in this. I thought perhaps for resting one’s feet on the coffee table this would be the perfect height. It is only if you want your legs to be used as the downward trial road for box car racing. It is good though if you suffer from poor circulation in your small toe.
My next good thought was wonderful. Now no one will eat in the living room which will keep the new couch clean.
I soon found out no eating in the living room includes me.
I removed the offending coffee table and left the couch.
Since that brilliant move I have been placing my drinks on the floor beside the couch.
I have personally kicked them over twice, and that was in the same day. I have knocked the drink over at least once by moving the couch to fix the phone that hasn’t worked since the new couch came to live with me.
I have tried to nap on the couch a couple times but just before nodding off I awaken drenched in fear. Certain words run through my mind on a continuous loop – If I should fall before I wake, at least one hip I’m sure to break.
My bed isn’t as far from the ground as my formerly perfect new red couch.
I’ve never been afraid of much in my life, so it pains me to admit that I currently live in fear of furniture.
The new red couch is a bully.
It is ruining my beautiful rug by making me kick over drinks. It is ruining my naps by shaking me awake in fear. It is ruining great television by not allowing food to be consumed on it.
I know there are huge campaigns against bullying at school. Does anyone know of help for how to deal with a bullying but beautiful red couch?
From the life and mind of:
Wanda M. Argersinger
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