We had to get rid of our old sofa sectional recently. It had been a good and faithful friend for many years. We got it right after we got back from Chicago. The kids literally grew up on that sofa. It gave me a comfortable place to sleep when I was uber-pregnant, I timed my contractions (for Monkey) on it, and I nursed both babies on the chaise part of the sofa. And it became my bed when my poor hip joint couldn’t take side-sleeping anymore.
Eventually it began to show its well-used years. Mr. Prairie did something to the back cushion on his side; it became a misshapen lump only vaguely resembling a sofa cushion. I had to stomp it into submission whenever Nana came over, just so she could sit there. The seat cushion on my chaise first developed a rip in the fabric, then gradually the deeper layers of foam began to separate until it also got uncomfortable to sleep on.
My parents, bless their hearts, go through den furniture like nobody’s business. This latest time when my mom decided to redecorate her den, she informed me that we needed her old sofa and comfy chair with ottoman. The chair and ottoman is pretty comfy even though it is totally not my style and will be replaced as soon as we get around to it, but the sofa, while rather innocuous looking, is evil.
It hurts my hip, my back, and my sense of aesthetics. It will be replaced as soon as humanly possible. In the meantime, I have dubbed it the Widow-maker.
I think it’s trying to kill me.
just keep a bic lighter in your pocket and now and then show it to the widow maker so it knows whose boss!