Thirsty Thursday: I love my new second-hand couch
Sarah McCarthy’s Thirsty Thursday column is brought to you each week thanks to Invercargill-based law firm Mee & Henry Law.
Sarah McCarthy’s Thirsty Thursday column is brought to you each week thanks to Invercargill-based law firm Mee & Henry Law
THIRSTY THURSDAY 31
I’m just sitting here trying to look busy because Mr mr and our strong and young and handy friend have just arrived with our new second-hand couch and are attempting to manoeuvre our old one out and our new one in and I don’t want to help.
This involves stairs. I have just helpfully shouted “pivot!” and am thinking about what we’re having for dinner.
I remember when we bought our couch. The big one was just little and we’d already chewed through two other second-hand couches, losing one to general old age and the other to … general even older age. Tired of forever adjusting the fitted sheet I had tucked over the holes, I decided that we needed a new couch and so stumped up the least amount of money possible in order to buy the ugliest, most utilitarian piece of furniture my eyes had ever thusly looked upon. It was uglier than couches you see in bleak reception areas and when we sat on it we said “oooh, yeah, so comfy” through gritted teeth.
I paid to have it delivered and the delivery person said they couldn’t possibly get the couch through our front door and around such a tight corner and asked if I wanted them to break our large front window to lift it through, explaining I could just claim insurance. This was too dodgy for even me, so they put my new couch in the garage and I waited for the weekend so that we could call in some backup.
My cousins came to help, and we had barely poured a glass of wine when our two men came screeching around the supposedly difficult corner and slid the couch triumphantly into place.
That old couch seen a new baby (actually it got splashed with amniotic fluid when the little one was on his way, I think) and a new puppy and lots of telly watching but it’s never been the comfy couch of my dreams. This is mainly because I don’t have $6,000.
All nice sofas cost $6,000. This is fact. And even if I did have $6,000 to spend on a couch I wouldn’t because between the dog and all of the kids that end up in my house and Mr mr’s general air of unkempt bin man I would never get a moment’s peace worrying about marks and stains and a couch is for lounging on and cuddling on and feet on and laughing on and spilling on. It’s for catching toast crumbs and blobs of sauce. $6,000 couches aren’t like that.
Couch update - they threw the old couch over the balcony and have started moving the new one up the stairs. There is grunting. I’m saying encouraging things like,
“You’re doing such a good job, chaps, gosh” and clapping my hands and saying, ‘Great job!” but I have just noticed my drama queen plant Puia is looking a bit droopy so I’d better give her a drink and let them get on with it. Our young and virile helper is looking virile and young while Mr mr is puce and keeps wiping his face with his t-shirt. We actually had honest to goddess lemonade quencher in the fridge so I let them help themselves while I titted about the living room shifting small things.
Tonight I will sit on my new second-hand couch, which I love and is comfy and already has a few cat scratches on it so I can relax, and I will watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills in style. And then, when I one day buy my $6,000 couch, and burly movers who haven’t even been born yet move it in for me while I sit in my electric brain-operated hoverchair, I will think about today, which will then be way back when. Please do not ask why I will need a couch if I already have an electric brain-operated hoverchair YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD.
PS Go see The Revlon Girl on Friday at the Civic, it is amazing.