Truthfully, last week kicked my butt. Like, literally. I’m pretty sure if I turn around just right and shine a flashlight just so while looking in mirror at just the right angle, I would find a shoe print smack on my backside. But I haven’t checked, because…that takes too much work.
And I’m so tired.
At least, by Friday I was. So exhausted, in fact, that I came home after work that day, dropped off my work crap on the green bench in my kitchen that was already piled high with my kid’s school crap, and then hopped in my car for a quick Starbucks run. A pumpkin spice latte was calling my name, and the plan was to whiz through the drive through, grab a Grande, and make a beeline for home and my sweatpants and my old, ratty t-shirt—my weekend attire of choice.
Instead, I grabbed a latte, turned right one exit earlier than normal, drove down the road…
And bought a sofa.
Now, I’ve said before that I am the world’s worst shopper. I’m not kidding. No exaggeration here. None whatsoever. Case in point: Last month, I needed a dress for a banquet—a dinner where people always, always dress way up. Like, Prom up. Broadway up. That dinner was a really big deal. So I shopped for four hours, got super-frustrated, wound up with a nice pair of cheap jeans, and called it quits. I wore a dress to that banquet that was nearly two years old. And I really didn’t care. Much.
Not only am I bad at shopping, I’m also very slow to get around to it. Last year, I wrote a blog titled (if I remember right) “My Couch Is Broken and Leans Kinda Sideways.” Might not be an exact title, but that was the general theme. Anyway…it’s been a year. I’ve lived a year with a broken sofa. Not because it didn’t bother me, not because I don’t like the idea of shopping for furniture, and not because I was just so enamored with my red and brown paisley pattern that I just couldn’t bear to give it up.
I’m lazy, that’s mainly it. And also, I bought a board at Lowe’s and shoved it under the cushion so that the leanyness in my sofa wasn’t quite so leany anymore. That’s also it. What can I say? The board was cheap, and shopping just isn’t my thing. Cake is my thing. Milk Duds are my thing.
Naps are my thing.
Anyway, with my latte in hand, I left the Starbucks parking lot and intended to drive straight home. But then I remembered my friend Stacy mentioning that a local upscale furniture store was having a big ol’ sale, and the sale started that day. So even though I was exhausted to the point of snot-crying into my cinnamon-topped whipped cream, I took a detour and pulled into the furniture store lot. An enormous blue and white tent greeted me upon my arrival, which instantly perked up my mood a bit. Ever since I was a kid and took a trip to the traveling circus with my parents, tents like that make me happy.
My good mood took a nosedive when I couldn’t find one single animal—save one wooden elephant and a few ceramic cow heads—inside the big top. Such a disappointment.
So then I roamed around, picked up a few pillows, returned the pillows to the pillow box, walked over to the rugs, stepped over the rugs, looked at a lamp shaped like a naked woman’s boobs, considered buying the boob lamp (by this point I was delirious and was busy imagining my topless lamp shining in my Christmas picture window a.k.a. Christmas Story Leg Lamp style—how totally awesome would that be?? It would be the talk of the entire neighborhood!!), but then walked past the lamp and headed for the door. Empty-handed, as usual.
But then something caught my eye. A sofa. Just like the one I’d been holding out for at the regular-priced store. Except that one I’d been holding out for cost more than twice as much as the one I was staring at now. Surely…surely this was a misprint, I thought.
I asked. The saleslady assured me it wasn’t. I whipped out my debit card. A just like that, I bought myself a new sofa to replace my crappy broken one with the paisley print and frayed pillows with the stuffing coming out.
My kids nearly cried with joy when we brought it inside. Finally, they could hold their heads high when their friends came over—they would no longer be forced to endure the sofa stare of shame when their buddies sat down, sank to the floor, and subsequently looked at them like, “Man, y’all are low class with low-classy furniture.”
But of course, as it usually happens, when I stood back to analyze the new couch in my living room, everything about it was wrong. The new sofa sat on top of an old rug. And an old picture hung on the wall behind it. And those outdated lamps…just, gag.
So with a half-full latte, I hopped back in the car, drove back to the sale, and bought a rug. And some bamboo. And a picture. And the pillow I put back the first time.
The boob lamp was gone.
That was a shame.
My living room looks good…but that lamp would’ve made it spectacular. Maybe I’ll try ebay…
It’s Monday—let’s do this.