Either the Couch Goes, Or I Do!

Well, Dear Reader, I am not sure if I have mentioned it as of late, but our house has been driving me bat-shit crazy.  We used to be big believers in the whole stupid notion on 'bigger is not always better', which was all fine and dandy when it was just Michael and me.  But now we have doubled -- and our space has shrunk.  And I don't care what anyone says -- the smaller the person, the more crap, er... I mean, accoutrements, they seem have.  I am tripping all day over plastic broccoli, wooden stacking rings, wicked-loud microphones (that record your voice, enabling for some rather spectacular singing, I must say, for all to hear later), wooden train pieces, and plastic bowls.  This would not be so bad if the rest of the house wasn't crammed to the gills.  And the room to fare the absolute worst lately has been the living room -- or, as I like to call it, The Gypsy Waggon.  I have no idea how we have managed to fit so much junk it it, but we have.  And I have been lamenting this fact very loudly, er, I mean very much the past month or so.  'Where in sam hell are we supposed to put a blasted Christmas tree??  Huh, where?  And don't even tell me over there, because that clearly will not work!  For hell's sake!'  Or something like that anyway.

And then tonight...  Michael comes home from work.  And he tells me he has to work all weekend.  No really, all weekend.  I say, 'fanfeckingtastic, but we are supposed to be getting a Christmas tree tomorrow.  Where shall we put it?'  And there you go.  The couch that we have had for years and years is gone!  Yippee Yahoo!  We stripped it of its cover, turned it on its side, and moved it to the garage, where it had better not sit for the next five to seven years.  But there you go, it is gone!  I have loathed this piece of furniture for years now -- seriously cannot even look at it without grimacing, but could not get rid of it because of the comfy factor.

Yes, if you are wondering, I did call my mom and give her a heads up a few weeks ago.  It went something like this:
'Oh, by the way, did I tell you?  We are getting rid of that big old couch in the living room.  I am so happy.  However, this means we will no longer have anything comfy to sit on.  On the bright side, this will be an impetus to buy something else, don't you think?  Mom?'
'Oh, honey, I don't blame you one bit.  So what else is new over there?'  (Pause)  'Wait a minute!  Now where am I going to sleep?  Oh great!  This will not do!'
My mom has this thing over the past several years of liking to sleep while sitting up.  This is done with a plastic toothpick in her mouth, a Kindle and reading light in her lap, a cup of lukewarm tea teetering precariously somewhere within the vicinity, and her head bobbing all over the place.  This is completely true, and I can assure you that my mom will no longer be speaking to me for three to five days because I have divulged this tidbit.  Anyway, when she comes for a visit, this arrangement typically (always) takes place on the comfy couch.  So, with this in mind, I swear and promise (and all that jazz), that we will have a new shiny and comfy thing to fit this very purpose in the next couple of months.  And, I can assure you, all hell will break loose if we don't.  Just ask Emilia if you don't believe me.

The girl was so excited tonight moving the couch out of here.  She helped Michael move the car, propped the door open, ran around with the cushions, helped me sweep the garage afterwards, and announced several times what a good helper she was.  Seriously, she was exhilarated.  Then we came in, closed the door, and I went back to the business of trying to feed Leo and getting dinner together.  Emilia stood in the kitchen and began to sob.  'But I don't want to sit on the cold couch now!  I just want the other couch!  It is warm and snug and cozy!'

To be honest, she does have a point.  The little slick leather affair (that now sits where the other did) has always been called The Cold Couch, because it is just that -- freaking cold.  And it is not squishy.  And it isn't terribly comfy either.  But it looks a lot better, and I happen to be in a fragile state these days with The Gypsy Waggon effect.  So the Cold Couch it is -- for now.  Besides, we can now fit a Christmas Tree, and this is very good news.