Requiem for a Couch
Our pull-out couch came to us unexpectedly. About nine years ago, Joel's grandmother, Nana, sent us some money out of the blue. We took this money and went to Cost Plus World Market, your shopping choice for international foods, beverages, and home decor. For some reason, amongst the aisles of "Japanese canned foods useful for daring your friends to eat" and "wine made from the finest German milk chocolate" was this couch.
"Is this couch somehow cultural?" we asked ourselves.
"No doubt," we replied. "And look, we can afford it with our Nana money!"
The couch seemed indeed to be cultural. Perhaps fashioned by Scandinavian elves, it was oddly-shaped, amazingly light (Joel could literally put it on his back and move it from room to room), and mysteriously comfortable. Despite being only five feet long, it was eminently nappable.
Also, according to Ophelia, eminently delicious.
Ophelia spent her first six months learning to adjust to family life. Gradually, her tendency to steal and destroy the treasured personal items of the people who feed her, walk her, and shower affection upon her has waned, but she couldn't go a day without taking a few bites of couch. So, this past summer, we moved the couch out into the backyard for one last golden hour of lounging, then took it to the dump.