My Couch

My Couch

I am currently in possession of the weirdest looking couch in the universe.

On it’s own it’s not that weird-looking. It’s ugly, but it’s clean and perfectly useable. But it’s orangey and floral and it just doesn’t go with my decor at all. My sister gave me a set of burgundy-red batiked sheets to cover the couch with. Two sheets. But it doesn’t really, er, cover the whole thing. I could get it to cover the back and the seats but not the arms. And then it just looked stupid. So then I took the cushions off, used the sheets to cover the frame and the arms, and then wrapped the seats up in an old quilt. That looked ridiculous and wierd. Then I took the cushions off again and wrapped them in a forest green flannel sheet. That looks slightly better, but still utterly ridiculous. I put a green pillow and a white pillow on it. It still looked weird. I put old quilts, folded, on the arms. It still looks atrocious. But somehow I kind of like it in a sick, sad way. Anyone walking into this apartmen would have to laugh their ass off at my couch.

Well, they don’t have to live here, do they. Hmph.

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