The pink couch
Like most couples that married young, we accepted anything and everything anyone offered us. Have an old bed frame? We’ll take it. A set of dishes? Yes, please. A four-thousand pound pink couch with a pull out bed? Gladly.
For nearly fifteen years I have cherished every single gift we have received, from our wedding shower on. I can’t use my hand mixer without thinking of a curly-haired lady named Kathy, or bake a cake in a Bundt pan without remembering Jenny signing her name to the card. I’m a sentimental goober to the nth degree, and parting with any of these things is extremely difficult.
But now, we’re getting closer to letting one of them go.
This must be one of the most sturdy couches built in all of recorded history. It survived the raising of three teenage boys and a giant dog and still looked practically new when it arrived from my in-law’s house. They were upgrading to a more modern style that didn’t have a mattress or the need for a moving crew to sweep underneath.
Without a good place to put it, but unable to turn it down, we opted to put it in our unfinished basement so that we could have a place to sit while our kids eventually would roller-skate around on the smooth, concrete floor. We used the couch as much as one uses a couch in a cold basement, waiting out storms and escaping the most humid days of summer. But eventually we wanted more. We wanted a finished basement.
The contractor drew up the plans and started framing. Before we knew it, the drywall was up and rooms were divided in our lower level, and in one side room sat the pink couch. Locked in for eternity. There was no easy way to move the monster out of the room, let alone up the stairs to ever get a glimpse of daylight again.
For years, the couch has sat in our back storage room, covered in boxes of winter hats and holiday decorations, with nary a hind-end seen. We honestly thought that we would have to sell our house someday with a little fine print that read: Included, free of charge, world’s heaviest couch.
Today the story changed.
A visiting friend was recruited to flex his muscles and see if we could maneuver the infamous pink couch out of the basement room and into the garage for an upcoming yard sale. I couldn’t watch, to be truthful. I was sure there was going to be a hole in the wall or a pulled back. After hiding in the kitchen, I emerged to see the couch halfway up the stairs and jumped in to help haul it all the way up and out into the garage, where it will stay until it finds its next worthy home. Until then, on it I will sit, watching the kids roller-skate around on the smooth, concrete floor, and think of my in-laws.