Oct 14, 2007

Moving Day

My daughter's aforementioned thirteenth birthday party wrapped up last Sunday morning at 11, giving me, I thought, plenty of time to do all the little things I have to do around the house on normal weekends. Again, fool on me.

A week ago. I can't believe it's only been a freaking week. Oi, it's been a long week, can I tell you?

Anyhoo, enough of the old Jewish mother. Back to the post.

My sister-in-law likes to change furniture. She changes furniture more than most people change their light bulbs. (So, how many sister-in-laws does it take to change a light bulb? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?) Oh. Ahem. And since my brother the pharmacist can afford to let her have her little whims and dalliances when it comes to spending copious amounts of money on Things it falls to me to be in the enviable position to happily accept my pick and choice of the 'old' furniture. I say old because most of her furniture doesn't see service for more than a few months before it's Out With The Old, so I get furniture that still has "Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law" tags on. Nice, yes?

As the years have rolled past on their brand new, well-oiled casters I've been given two very nice rugs, a lovely queen-size bed with brand new mattress which my daughter now resides on 24/7, and more little oddments than I can shake a bric-a-brac at. And of course being the thoughtful and appreciative brother-in-law that I've always imagined myself to be, I've tried to help her find this Furniture Unicorn she's searching for. You know, that one perfect Ikea moment piece of furniture that'll never go out of style, never stop being useful, never quit being the one thing that you can't live without. To this end I gave her my fifteen year old futon.

It's a bed! *fold* It's a couch! *fold* A bed! *fold* A couch!

That satiated her crack-like need for a few days at best and then even that mystic thing failed her, and I heard at lunch with Mom that she was ready to get rid of her sectional couch. Now, the wife has been lusting after that particular couch for a while now, so I casually interjected that I'd take it (just like that scene in Lord of The Rings; the Council arguing and everyone aflutter and Frodo speaks up quietly in the midst of all the caterwauling that he'd carry the Ring, only picture it over a dinner table with lots more kids, about the same amount of bare feet and way less facial hair. Oh, and not a bauble of gold but The One Couch.)

Now keep in mind that this was last weekend, and somehow I had failed to remember that I had just been put through the wringer with an Overnight House Of Teenage Girls Horror Fest. Also, the part of my brain that still hunches in front of the fire and warns me when I'm doing something profoundly stupid was busy stuffing it's Neanderthal face full of birthday cake, and so I didn't realise that it'd be ME who had to move the existing couch and other furnishings around.

So what did I do to recover from an exhausting sleepover? I rearranged and cleaned every piece of furniture in my den. All of it. All. I moved everything except the bookcase (built into the wall) and the aquarium (125 gallons, it probably weighs about seven tons more than me.) There was more dust in the air than any Depression-era Bowl you'd care to name, and by the time it was all done I required a map, a compass, a flashlight and a Sherpa guide to help me navigate from the back door to the kitchen, but it's done. That burgundy red behemoth is in place, as is the equally huge coffee table. The antique fainting couch/divan has a nice new home behind it until it can be recovered. I even tossed two old oxblood-red brass-button tufted faux-vinyl (the native Americans called it "naugahyde") chairs that I've been meaning to repair for forever and a day, and I stirred up enough animal dander to blind me worse than Oedipus on a MILF website, but it's done.

And to prove it, here's the Sixty-Mile-An-Hour Couch Potatoe giving it the official Nose Of Approval. Not to mention the ensuing Nap of Approval.



And did you know that the Greater North American Nauga (the Real Performance Fabric!) is on the endangered species list? Seems they were hunted to near extinction in the early 70's for their exquisitely heat-press patterned and drum dye-coloured hides and are only now making a recovery as a species in two "Swingers Of America" subsidized Conservation Discotheques in upstate New Jersey.

10 comments:

Nancy Dancehall said...

'...blind me worse than Oedipus on a MILF website'

You make me snicker.

So when do you toss The One Couch into the volcano? May I tag along? I missed the first go-around.

Jay said...

Oh the things you learn when blogging at 7am.

Mona Buonanotte said...

The Oedipus line...bwahhahaha! I'm gonna steal that.

I'd love furniture hand-me-downs..sniff....

Irrelephant said...

Nancy, if and when it comes time to give this sectional the heave-ho into the boiling depths at the heart of Mount Doom I'm going to give you a call, just for that.

Oh, and I'd suggest you bring about half of the Riders of Rohann, as this joker is BIG.

Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, innit Jay? *wink*

Mona, help yourself dear! I'm here to be used. As for hand-me-downs, all you gotta do is move down here to the Deep Sauth and I'll hook a sistah up.

Maggie said...

I'm fixated on the beautiful dog! Wow.
Was she difficult to train? Is she good with kids? Does her hair get all over? Did you get your eyesight back?

Scott from Oregon said...

That couch looks like a doghair magnet...

or a dog magnet...

or both...

meno said...

One Couch to rule them all,
and in the darkness bind them.

My husband and i watched all 9+ hours of Lord of the Rings, again, last week. Sigh. It was awesome.


Nap of Approval made me laugh.

Rayne said...

This is so funny. The futon thing reminded me of when we were stationed in SD and our neighbors found out they were being shopped to Hawaii and she had the saddest look on her face.
"What's to be sad about?" I asked her. "You're going to a tropical paradise, they're paying for it and your house while you live there. How can you be sad?"
"I can't bring my futon," she said.
I knew the futon. I loved the futon. I will even admit to lusting her futon. The futon now resides in our home in my protective custody and has been all over the world with us. My daughter is going to college next year and she actually attempted to tell me that she was taking the futon with her.
Not. Going. To. Happen.

Irrelephant said...

Maggie, she's not been difficult, just stubborn. Being very intelligent and independent, Borzoi are more likely to ignore you with a guilty look than unswervingly do whatever you ask them. And she's great with kids, helped raise a toddler at the shop with the Mrs. and endured every finger poke in the eye and pulled ear with a doggie smile.

As for shedding? Not too bad. Brushing and bathing once a week keeps her smelling sweet, and the fur doesn't fly any worse than any other dog.

And thank you for asking, I'm still wearing a patch.

Sincerely,
Your Cyclopean Friend.

Scott, you're right on both counts. It came from the brother's house with a fair bit of hair, and Belle's been helping.

Meno, I envy you that sort of time! And shouldn't that line be "and with lots of thread bind them"? *grin* And you'd know the truth of the NoA; this dog sleeps more than most narcoleptics.

Rayne, you need to cling to that divine piece of multi-purpose furniture like grim death! Tell the offspring to get her own, she'll appreciate it more. *lol*

To this day I still feel a deep twinge of regret when I think about giving that lovely unfinished pine bit of stuff to my SIL. Ah, I shall forever rue the day.

Wanderlust Scarlett said...

See? There you go again... making me giggle and laugh, and over furniture no less!

Love the baby sleeping on it.

Scarlett & Viaggiatore