Furniture Love

When I was a little girl, our living room sofas were a dark chocolate brown with velour stripes. Even then, when such things were fashionable, I knew they were ugly, but I didn’t care. I loved those sofas like they were living breathing creatures. When I was sick, I wanted to sleep on the sofa. When I broke my arm, after chasing my sister around the trampoline as a mischievous nine year old, I slept on the long sofa for weeks. And in my mind, cuddling up against it was like getting a big hug.

When my parents sold the sofas (eight years after I broke my arm) at a family yard sale, I was devastated. I had always planned on taking them to college with me. I may have actually cried.

Time passed. I forgot about my sofas. The fancy couch in my parents’ living room never had the same warmth. I didn’t get attached to it. When I moved out, I found a free couch and gave it a nice home. Then Mr. Citystreams proposed to me, and we started planning our lives together.

The first piece of furniture that we bought, was a $50 yard-sale chair and ottoman. We call it the big chair. I’m not sure how I’ve grown to love this chair so much. Perhaps it was the hours of shampooing and febreezing that I invested in order to get the yard-sale dog’s smell out of it.

Or perhaps it was the joyful chore of moving all of our things into that tiny apartment and starting our married life together. Maybe it was a patient bonding that developed as we watched Lilly grow from a tiny whiny puppy to a fully house (and chair) trained dog. Or it could have been the long hours I spent nursing our newborn, while hogging the big chair as Hubster and I watched marathon upon marathon of Friends episodes.

Whatever the reason, I love curling up in the big chair. It feels like a warm hug. When Hubbsy was away at police academy, I often found myself snuggled up in the chair while we talked on the phone. Everything seems better when I sit in the big chair. Life feels warm and cozy. It’s better than an anti-depressant!