Scott came by last night and hauled the old sofa and loveseat out to the curb for me. Now, I have always been one to anthropomorphize (?) objects…I used to apologize to each of my dolls in turn every night that he or she didn’t get to sleep in the bed with me and had to, instead, sit up on the hard shelf or be shut up in the toy box. I name my cars, and have even been known to have conversations with them. I refer to objects in my life as “Chair” and “Bed” and have a hard time ever throwing anything away. I am also rather bad with change.
To walk out to the car this morning on my way to work and see those sofas…well loved, well used to the point of abused…upside down and sideways in the ditch by the curb waiting on the city workers to come haul them off to certain landfill-doom…almost reduced me to tears. I nearly abandoned my responsibilities just to drag at least the loveseat back in the house. But I didn’t…I left them there, and God help me if the city doesn’t pick them up today while I’m at work.
Hunky’s pretty mad at me too I think. He doesn’t approve of the new loveseat because the seat part is a lot more narrow than the old loveseat was. He tried to stretch out on it last night like he used to and slid off the edge. And as for the sofa being gone…he just stood in the spot where it used to be and cried. Again, I almost ran to the curb and retrieved it just so he would stop crying.
Anyway, through a strange series of events I ended up at my house last night alone with a loveseat and chair in the back of my car. The chair was easy. Light as a feather, easy to turn on its side and swing through my freakishly small front door.
The loveseat proved to be a bit more of a challenge. I walked it through the yard to the door and then turned it just as I had the chair to force it through the door. It can’t be any wider than the chair was, I thought.
I thought wrong.
I’m not really sure what I did, but somehow I ended up with the loveseat up on one end wedged in the doorway. I had visions of never being able to either leave the house again nor let the cats out of the bathroom because surely they would scale the blue plaid mountain of doom and make their escape. I tried every way but Sunday to ease that small loveseat through the door and nothing worked.
Then I got mad.
I gave the loveseat a good yank, coupled with some very colorful language directed at the door, the paint job on the porch and front door, as well as anything else that had irritated me in the last 24 hours, and the loveseat and I came tumbling into the house.
I won’t say that I hurt myself in the process, but if I lift my right arm and turn to the right simultaneously the shade of red that suddenly obscures my vision is quite possibly the embodiment of the flames that shoot up the right side of my back. I think it’s just a coincidence.
Scott is coming to help me with the sofa on Thursday. Geezominey I hope the old sofas are gone when I get home or I’ll have to blindfold the puppers for our afternoon walk to get them down the driveway…