Sofa So Good

We got a new couch today. It was brought to us in the rain. It is the size of a small country, and it is as puffy and beautiful as Baymax. It almost didn't fit through the door.

One of our family friends, Bessie, and I used to be students of benchology. I once described benchology as "the study of benches. Many life lessons can be learned from the nature of a single bench: lessons about support, structure, weathering through all kinds of conditions..."

Well, fahgettabouhd benchology. Let's talk about sofalogy. Or perhaps not sofalogy so much as the study of people through looking at what kinds of couches they are drawn to.

As I said, this new couch is huge. It's bigger than my bed. It's softer than my bed, too. And it came with fat, fringed, matching pillows. It is the Lexus of couches; nay, the Humvee. Not that I really know what either a Lexus or a Humvee is like. Or anything about them, really. These are just words that I hear people say and then I use them in a vain effort to sound like a normal human who knows about human things.

The point being, I think my idea of the best couch ever is a small couch that is slightly fuzzy and which has a matching footrest. I would never have purchased this wonderful but gargantuan thing that wouldn't even fit in the houses of probably 30% of the world's population. I don't think the Seamstress, who obtained the new couch, would have chosen this one if it weren't used at a decent price.

But. The beautiful thing about used couches is that sometimes the owners leave things behind in the cushions. I went through the cushions of the new couch just now and found some lint, a couple of Cheerios, two M&Ms (both orange), an old piece of duct tape, and a gift tag addressed to "Elder Davie."

I've ruled out eating the Cheerios. I'm still deciding about the M&Ms.