It isn’t much as far as couches go. It was possibly a wallflower at the Couch School dances. The other slick, leather couches would secretly point and laugh at its out-of-date, over-stuffed appearance, the mottled swirls of mauve and country blue hopelessly covering its unassuming beige surface like a teenager with pimples.
They would twirl and swirl on the showroom floor, shameless flaunting themselves in all their modern, stream-lined glory while poor Stuffy (yes, I names my couch. Is that a problem?) sat shyly in a corner on the back wall, waiting for Mr./Ms. Right to come along and sweep it into a delivery truck to be whisked off to Happily Ever After.
|The Stuffy I know and love.|
But still, it’s a good couch!
Stuffy came to us as a cast-off, unloved by its previous owner who was up-grading. (After all peoples, what’s comfort in the face of upwardly mobile fashion?) Since our other so-called couch (a nameless, dorm-worthy futon couch with an unforgiving metal frame) had seen better days…days before being mauled and molested by dogs with absolutely NO manners and three teenage boys who didn’t know how to sit without “plopping”… we gratefully accepted Stuffy into our family.
Since then Stuffy has become my best friend. Always there with an over-stuffed corner ready to swallow me in flame-retardant fiberfill and a cushion with a perfectly shaped butt-groove, Stuffy and I simply “fit” each other. We have become…inseparable.
During the day, when my back and buttocks (isn’t that a freakin’ fun-as-heck-y word to say? Yeah, I thought so!) become tired and sore from my desk chair, I can nestle in the squish of Stuffy’s embrace. My laptop chord even reaches, allowing me to continue my “work” while cuddling with my buddy. At night, when the meds lull me into a nighty-night-drug induced coma, I can safely fall over side-ways and slumber at peace knowing Stuffy’s got my back. (And neck and hips and shoulders…)
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I actually slept in my bed!
|Bwwaaaa Haaaa Haaaa!|
OK, I was a tiny bit sleep-deprived.
When the nighty-night meds wear off I spring to my feet, a teensy bit confused but otherwise wide-awake and rearin’ to start the day! (Somewhere in the neighborhood of 4:00 AM. This is SO not right, folks!) I’ll gently rouse hubby enough to get him tucked away in the piece of furniture formerly-known-as-bed, then run (OK, Zombie-shuffle-limp-stagger) for the coffee.
This begins another glorious day for me and Stuffy, the bestest non-human friend a gal like me could ever have…
OK, I gotta STOP now, because suddenly the tune to O Christmas Tree is running through my head, only with slightly more disturbing lyrics;
O couch of mine
O couch of mine
Your fibers are so squishy…
This? Is why I should NEVER
be left to my own devices...