My Life as a Couch
No one ever asks a couch what they have going on. It simply doesn’t matter if your couch has plans or errands. It is there when you need it and spends as much time with you as you want.
No, I’m not under the assumption that couches have a secret life like the toys in Toy Story. Instead, I speak merely from the newly discovered point of view from my time as a couch.
When my daughter got her first round of vaccines, she had a small reaction. No, I’m not the type of first time parent that goes running to the ER every time my kid gets the sniffles, but I could see that she was suffering. During this time, she didn’t want sleep, she didn’t want a bottle, and she didn’t even want a new diaper. No, during this time, she wanted Daddy.
So, I held her. And held her. And after a while… I held her. But this wasn’t enough. No, for her to be completely satisfied, I had to sit, perfectly still, breathing as little as possible and doing my best impression of a couch. Day in, day out, this was my calling in life.
It took my little girl several days until she regained some semblance of normalcy, but during that time I developed a new respect for my couch. After stretching my legs and finally taking care of my own hygiene (Several days as a couch can leave you smelling quite ripe. Don’t believe me? Watch all six Star Wars movies in a row, no breaks and then sniff your couch cushions), I immediately fluffed and rotated the cushions on my couch.
The moral of the story: Be kind to your couches, because they are certainly kind to you.