Max Riffner

The Parlor

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Sofa Sleeping

Back when my wife and I were first married, we had a sofa. A pink sofa. It was about the nastiest thing I’d ever seen. My wife had this beauty given to her while she was going to school in Iowa by a lovely old lady who lived in her apartment building. My wife and her roommate decided to cover it themselves, and claim it was an amazing covering job, minus the pins that would stick you in random places from their work. Thus, the sofa became known as the Voodoo Couch, and all feared its hidden pink embrace.

The quest for a new sofa was prominent in our minds. I was tired of getting stuck in the leg when I sat down on it, as was my wife. The only problem was that we couldn’t agree on anything we saw, except for the very most expensive sofas, which for newlywed working class kids, wasn’t going to happen. As such, a rift grew between us, this would be the first true test of the marriage. Whose taste would win?

This amused friends and family alike for some time.

So, when we happened upon a leather sofa on sale at the dreaded Mart, and we both liked it, we snatched it up. The salesman tried to dissuade us a bit, kids our age will get tired of a good leather sofa since it would last forever. That just convinced me more.

And although since that wonderful day of furniture and matrimonial bliss my wife has come out and said she just thinks it is ‘okay,’ I have come to love it like a member of the family. Not only had it tickled our taste tests, but it also passed our crucial nap test: any given sofa, we’d lay down on it right in the store. We figured if we couldn’t lay on it comfortably, it wasn’t for us.

I was warmly embraced by nostalgia of its purchase this morning. I wasn’t sleeping well for some reason, and thought I should just move to the sofa so the wife would stop waking up from my tossing and turning. That was at 6:30am. I just woke up from the best morning nap of all time.

I swear, it’s like laying in a well worn baseball glove.

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