Tuesday, March 20, 2012

We be Couchin'!

I've moved into an apartment (in like January...) and I got my brothers old hand-me-down couch.

Embrace the plaid loveliness!!

When I was given the thumbs up to take this couch I was sooooo happy, knowing I had no couch and this would be better then no couch as my bum has become accustomed to soft couches in my 26 years. But this couch is tooo soft. It sinks like a sinky hole of sinky sand and it's lovely to sink into but a nightmare to get out of.

Every time the other half and I try to get up from comfort we're grumbling and grunting like an old married couple. So sinky couch is a lovely free bane (one of the many I've inherited since the move).



Apparently my bitching pays off as this year my mother took me out couch shoppin'. There's a lovely strip along Kennedy north of Eglinton Avenue that is like the weird ass 'design district'. I call it weird ass because the entire time I felt like we were looking for the shaddiest used car dealership but in realty it was furniture stores.

Not too dissimilar now that I've been shopping for butt cushions.
Whenever we walked in (my mother hobbling from a heel muscle injury, and me hungover from getting tanked the night before) someone would immediately offer help. Oh thank you, that's nice but we're just looking. Sooo that's now code for 'I will show you all the expensive things I want you to but now. Come this way.' One guy even tried to get me to design my own couch and he would deliver it once it was made. The girl in me was like 'YAY PERSONALIZED COUCH OF ORANGE!' while my mother shook her head politly indicating 'I'd like to sit on the couch before I buy it, but thanks.' What a trooper.

Store to store to store. We started the process of wondering if I had too expensive taste, if I knew what I wanted, did I really need a couch, what if the other half doesn't like it. Finally we agree to just find my style and move on from there and at the last store (we're now running late to meet and pick up the BF at the train) we find THE couch.
Its grey.
It's boxy.
It's comfortabel and hard.
It looks like it's from the 50's.
It's heaven.

Price tag 1250$. We both scoff, make fun of the gilded throne pieces nearby and move on.
After a second pass my mom 'pssts' me over like she's found a rip that will discount it 900%.
Mom: 'It's 1250$'.
Me: 'Yeah I know. I have great facy ass taste.'

All of course in strategic hushed tones. We then sit on it. Sit on it a different way. Sit on it again and then I run to find a sales associate.

It was still more than my mom wanted to spend so we split it fairly (she paid more) and set up delivery.
We had been successfully couchin'.

And it arrived!!!


The cats will ruin it but not until I sit my ass down and enjoy the fruits of my couchin' labour. Goddamn does it feel good to have such awesome taste.

But what ever shall happen to the terrible sinking couch of doooom?

If you want it it's yours.  Condition: take fabulous pictures of you or your loved ones swallowed alive. It would make my day.

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