In a comment on a previous post, my mom shared an idea she was considering to help get rid of Christmas chocolate faster in order to combat the fat belly issue that accompanies this time of year. She is toying with the idea of throwing a piece of chocolate away for every piece of chocolate she eats.
I could never do this. I'll compare it to my pill thing: when getting my vitamin in the morning, I'll pour them into my hand. Most of the time more than one will fall out. I'll play out this scenario where the two pills were either best friends, husband and wife, siblings, whatever, and one is sacrificing itself for the other. "NO! Take ME instead! I LOVE YOU!! I LOVE YOU-HOOHOOHOO!! NNOOOOOO!!!!!!"
Heartbreaking, right? So, the chocolate thing would never work, because then I'd imagine all of the chocolates huddling together for comfort. The chocolate pieces would sit together discussing either fulfilling their martyr-destiny of being eaten, or getting old and being thrown away -- which is sad because the chocolates sat and waited, probably finally coming to terms with the martyr-destiny, only to spoil, get that white chalky coating, and be thrown away cold and alone among other trash items. The riff-raff of the food world: coffee grounds, chicken trimmings, eggshells.
Saddest and most disturbing of all, however, is this new and inherently wrong idea of being thrown into the trash in the chocolate's prime. I imagine, despite myself, that the chocolate pieces catch wind that their eater is going to eat one piece and then choose another piece for sacrifice to the garbage. Now there is a whole new cause of unrest and disturbance in the candy basket. Picturing the chocolates like this is too much for me.
That's truly crazy and I wouldn't blame you for considering not reading another word I write for as long as we both shall live. The true reason for this blog post is something a little more understandable. I shared the pill and chocolate examples, though, to convey how much more magnified my feelings are toward the subject. So here it goes.
We're getting a new couch. Marcus and I just celebrated three years of matrimony. About four years ago, we made our first major purchase together. After we got engaged, we bought a couch for $400. At the time, we probably high-fived and congratulated ourselves on such a frugal find! The couch has been through a lot,
(This was the night we spilled potato and leek soup on it. We brought the cushion into the kitchen to clean it off, just to explain the setting.)
but it's been a good couch for our first three years. Neville has taken to sitting on the back cushions, which has caused a serious squashedness overall. We've also had to switch out the seat cushions because they sag in one ::ahem:: particular spot where some fatty sits every morning and drinks her coffee, and every evening watches TV.
We've done a makeover on our greatroom recently, kind of accidentally. I won't get into the details, but needless to say one project causes other projects, and we became increasingly aware of the necessity for our couch to be replaced with something of a bit higher quality.
As excited as I am to put the cherry on top of the massive greatroom project, of course I'm more than just a little nostalgic and straight-up depressed about saying goodbye to our old couch.
The new one came in faster than I was planning. I wanted to get the old couch prepped for sendoff. I was planning on removing the cushion covers and washing them (as I learned this can be done after the leek soup fiasco), vacuuming out the inside, and getting it all spiffed up for a new owner. My brother and Marcus are taking it to St. Paul's thrift store in the morning on their way to pick up the new one.
A lot of thought went into the donation location. Initially I was going to donate it to Goodwill. I'm going to be picky about who buys our couch, even though I'll never know where it'll end up and have little (if any) control over this factor. I figured that the likelihood of some kid who got kicked out of his parents' house for being a bum buying it and putting it in a rundown apartment, spilling bong water on it and putting cigarette holes in the upholstery is less if I donate it to a church's thrift store. I like to think if I take it to St. Paul's, some nice retiree will buy it for his or her new place, and on it good books will continue to be read, crossword puzzles will be worked, and coffee (even if it is decaf) will be enjoyed.
Tomorrow morning I'll drink my last cup of coffee and enjoy my last zucchini muffin while sitting in my dented-in spot. I know it's ridiculous, but my heart aches to say goodbye to our first couch.
Taken minutes before they hauled it off. We thought it was appropriate to include the pillows that came with the couch.
Tomorrow, we'll welcome the new guy.
This entry is amazing.
ReplyDeleteWhat she didn't tell you is that the couch that we used to have in our den in Virginia, where Carrie spent her formative years, has spent the past 7 years in our garage because she was sentimental about it. We took the couch to Goodwill just a month or so ago. I'm not sure if it is now fulfilling its "martyr-destiny", or if this is the equivalent of throwing it away. Maybe being relegated to the garage was its martry-destiny?
ReplyDeleteOnly food and one-time use items have martyr-destinies. Just sayin'. To me, I think couches don't have a mind of their mortality. They're like dogs in that they assume they'll be with their people forever and ever.
ReplyDelete