A large spring has broken on my sofa, and it’s causing me to lean sideways as I type this. I’m so uncomfortable. So unbalanced. So…so…leany. It’s no fun at all.
This totally reminds me of a time I tried to watch a Mets game in Shea stadium a few years ago. I say ‘tried’ because it was soooo hard. Nearly impossible. Because while my husband and oldest son cheered and lounged and ate and relaxed at that game, my chair was broken. So I leaned sideways through the entire eleven mind-numbing innings (of course the game went long—for the love of all things holy!), shifting and moving and twisting and propping…just trying to get comfortable. But I did have a book in my lap that day. And popcorn. Just like to do now.
It’s creepy how eerily similar these two situations are.
Anyway, just as Shea Stadium was leveled to get rid of those really bad chairs (not sure if that’s the real reason, but it totally should be), I now need a new sofa. But I’m so stinkin’ afraid of trying to buy one. And here’s why:
About a month ago, my son said this to me: “I want a new TV for my birthday.” Sounded reasonable. After all, he’s turning sixteen later this week (I’ll address this sad fact in my next post) and he’s used the same old, boxy television for years now. So my husband and I said, “Sure,” and bought one this week.
Which of course he saw the next day, because I sent him to the garage to grab something for me—straight into the path of television. My skills at surprising people are totally lacking. As in, they don’t exist. It’s a black mark on my personality that I’ve learned to live with.
Anyway, so we hung the television on his wall this weekend. And I stood back. And instantly everything was all wrong.
Because all of a sudden, his dresser looked too small. And that bed…what was I thinking when I bought that awful comforter?? Nothing about the color said ‘I’ll look good next to a new television.’ And his rug…let me just say that it was swiftly removed and banished into the hallway.
So I went shopping. Now I’ve said before, I’m not a shopper. This applies not only to clothing, but to all things that involve the exchanging of money. Except food—grocery shopping is my true talent. No one can pick out a grapefruit or a Snickers bar better than me.
Anyway, with that in mind, I went to store number one, where I bought a bookcase. Then at store two, I bought new bedding and baskets (why baskets? No idea, but they were cute). At store three, I bought a latte for me, because I was already worn out from all that shopping. Then at store four, a pillow.
And I brought everything back home. And walked into my daughter’s room. And looked around. And the only reason I was in there in the first place was to put some clothes away, but suddenly it occurred to me that her dresser looked sorta masculine. So I turned to my son and said, “You want to use hers?” And he said, “Sure.” But then unfortunately he kept talking, and he said, “But why did you buy a bookcase when I needed a dresser? And why did you buy bedding? I like the bedding I already have. And I think baskets are stupid. But the pillow’s kinda cool.”
So I rolled my eyes, piled all the crap I’d spent four hours buying back into the car except the pillow, and returned it.
And then for no apparent reason, I stopped by a flea market in a town just north of mine, where I saw the cutest dresser. FOR CHEAP! So I bought it, loaded it into my old but trusty minivan, and drove it home.
Where my daughter did not question or criticize my purchase, probably because she was just so grateful to a have a dresser that didn’t look like it belonged in a man’s room.
So then we switched things around, threw things away, dragged the rug back into my son’s room, and everything is (sorta) back to normal. Except the kids now have furniture they actually like. Even better, with the exception of that one cheap dresser, I already owned all of it. Very little money was lost.
My time though…I’ll never get that back.
But now I need a new sofa. And the thought of taking off in search of a new one terrifies me. Because I’m likely to discover that I also need a new chair. Maybe a new curtains. Probably new pictures to match. Quite possibly even a whole new house.
So instead, I think I’ll just sit here and lean for awhile. Kick back. Grab some peanuts.
And watch a ballgame.
Talk to you later.