It's always a toss-up when I get something nice. Should I ruin it myself, right away, or hire someone else to do it? Both better options than the tedium of waiting for the kids or the dog to do it. Sometimes, late at night, when I'm alone and staring at the water spots on the ceiling, I fantasize about a lush lifestyle:
Matching place mats
Linen curtains blown ever so gently by the breeze coming off the ocean into our imaginary cottage in Maine
Decorative balls on every table
My corseted bosom heaving deeply as I recount to Husband how many lobsters I knocked unconscious for dinner that evening....
Point is, these are fantasies. I usually don't hold my breath for things that'll survive in our house without hearing a little voice from behind me stating, "Broke it, Momma? Yep, broken. Cookie now?"
This past Saturday, we inherited something nice. After many months of covering the fifty-dollar couches in the living room so our guests didn't ask why half the stuffing was missing, we received leather couches from my parents.
Now, before you go assuming we hit the Powerball and spent it all on furniture and an unlimited supply of Saltines, rest assured these are nice, but they've also survived ten other children. I was there the day my parents dragged us, after church, through Nebraska Furniture Mart and picked out something that could withstand a pack of children or the Apocalypse.
My parents were very clear on both of these points when speaking to the salesman. He suggested we wanted to invest in concrete benches.
But, they withstood the test of time, eleven people trying to destroy them, and the tears of mother trying desperately to preserve their supple, chestnut texture. Upon reflection, I'm sure she'd agree, tears really help to combat weathering and surface stains.
That may just be my observation. She may have stopped reading by now. Probably hear about that later.
The best thing about the whole situation is how many excuses I won't have to come up with anymore, when guests lose their way and end up at our house:
What do you mean, stuffing never flies out of your couch when you sit down? I'd ask for a refund.
Yours doesn't have juice stains anchoring down pieces of Poptart shaped like little, tiny replicas of the Titanic? It's ok, not everyone knows what to look for when they stumble drunkenly into an Ikea.
Oh, you don't drink? Well, I'm sure it was just your poor judgement that made you pick out a love seat that doesn't have pee stains embedded into the disintegrating cloth covering the box springs. Life's a journey. Life's a lesson. Life's a dance.
Yep, these things are an upgrade and super wonderful to pass out, face down, on. I think. I haven't slept in the past three years.
Good luck, new couches.
Until Next Time, Readers!