I have decided to use the name Boyfriend, in the hopes of my blogging becoming outrageously popular and having to keep Boyfriend's name a secret due to all the paparazzi following me daily.
Anyway, Boyfriend and I bought a couch. A big comfy couch. Way better, and way classier than the children's TV show portrays, even though I always secretly wanted to sit on the couch, despite the fact the moving toys never talked. It's obvious that girl was way to chatty and that is why she only had mute toys as friends.
My roommate for the last 3 years has made a career choice to move back to where we came from to accept a newly appointed position at her old job. While we encouraged her and congratulated her on her very difficult decision, it took a realization the size and weight of a 747 to hit us with reality.
My roommate supplied our living space with a lot of crap needed to, well, live. This was comprised of, but not limited to, dishes, knives, Insanity workout, half my wardrobe, wall decorations, and most importantly, the couch.
Sure the first half of that list isn't too terrible to pick up. Although my closet is taking a drastic and terrifying hit, that has to be left to the back burner. Apparently, it's important to have a couch. Scholars maintain it is uninhabitable to watch television without a couch. Also, where are you supposed to find change?
So, upon this realization, earlier this week, Boyfriend and I had decided we need to browse some couches, as making a decision is needed fairly soon--Roommate is moving in 4 days. Our window is closing and the probability of having to sit on a floor without furniture is haunting. How are you supposed to enjoy beer without a couch? Clearly, life becomes faded and all happiness become tainted with couchless darkness.
One evening, we headed to a furniture store that shall remain nameless, but rhymes with Schmiving Shmaces, to glance around. We walk in and are immediately attacked by 14 sales associates. We act like to don't desperately need anything to keep our waking lives livable, even though we do.
We head to the back, away from he gray polo-wearing leeches lurking about.
We slowly walk, cautious and mildly confused as to what we're trying to achieve exactly. Some were too small. Some were too big. Some were that crappy velour material that makes the hair rise on my neck and makes me throw up in my mouth. My texture phobia will be discussed at a later date.
After experiencing a situation similar to that of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, a light from above caught our eyes, and shone down on all the beauty the world could create.
As Boyfriend and I approached slowly, expecting the mirage to disappear, the lovely couch remained. Without saying a word, we both did the "teenage plop" onto the couch--the way you heave your body with dead weight into the cushions with a quick follow up yell from your mother about how she is going to come to your house and flop on your couch and jump on your bed someday. It seemed perfect. Boyfriend and I looked at each other like nothing better could come a long. After one of the leeches explained to us this couch could be ours at a great deal, we went for it. We just bought it.
We signed and took our paperwork that included a warranty that covered vomit accidents and walked out. As we silently walked, I felt like every step became less solid and more shaky. I couldn't believe we just did that. We got to the car and that's when it hit me--I was having an anxiety attack because buying a couch means stuff in a house, and a house, and a car, and marriage, and children, and a lawn, and annoying neighbors, and parent teacher conferences, and block parties, and feeling the worst pain by stepping on a lego.
I felt like we just bought each other our future. It was a surreal experience.
It took a night to sleep on it for me to be as excited as I should be for being a grown up and buying a couch with Boyfriend. Of course I love him and we talk often of our future, but it just seemed a little more real now.
Some people think it's just a couch. But it's basically a wedding ring, which is basically a bridal shower, which is basically an opening for people to buy me awesome kitchen things. So if you want to, please buy me awesome kitchen things while I don't really have to have a wedding.
^ this is me pretending to sleep on the couch
Thanks for soundin' down.
A catechism ( //; Ancient Greek: κατηχισμός from kata = "down" + echein = "to sound", literally "to sound down" (into the ears), is a summary or exposition of doctrine, traditionally used inChristian religious teaching from New Testament times to the present. Catechisms are doctrinal manuals often in the form of questions followed by answers to be memorized, a format that has been used in non-religious or secular contexts as well