We got a new couch. It’s kind of retro: buttons on the back, tweedy fabric. Kind of makes you think you ought to be holding a martini and listening to avant garde jazz.
The futon (which served us well) has been relegated to another room.
And now when we stand in the living room and look at the space we’ve created, you no longer think of … slumber parties … when you walk in our front door.
I stand in the hall with a cool breeze coming thru the screen. There’s a yellow puddle of light in the far corner of the otherwise dark living room, where the fair and industrious Trudy is sitting on the new couch reading a book.
She looks up at me as I start to say something.
“I think that we should…”
She stares, waiting for me to finish.
“Yes?”
“I think that we should get one of those … plastic covers … that, you know … slips over …”
“You can’t even say it, can you? You can’t say it with a straight face.”
“No. I can’t.”
We got a new couch. And it feels like we’re such grown ups. Frightening for a couple well into middle age.