If The Sofa Fits

Completely Inaccurate Depiction 

In the SJG's travels through the many dwellings longtime hubby and I have occupied and over-cluttered in the past, oh, 38 years, earning a bounty of unsolicited design advice -- "That would look better over there," "That would look better on the curb," -- I've learned that there's no way to predict whether something's going to work until you see it in its designated spot and realize, once again, you were out of your mind thinking it would fit, let alone look okay. Even with my sweet mother-in-law, the decorator, guiding us, we still eff'd up. We've tried to up our game with the sons, and had more success than failure. Until Monday, and that eff up's pretty much on me. I'm the one who instigated the Near-Fiasco of the Furniture. See how healthy I am, how evolved I am to take blame? Oh, wait, I've been doing that my entire life.

So let's talk about the sofa bed and the sectional, shall we? Here's my thinking on the matter: when life gives you a sofa bed that's newish but you don't have room for it in your new place, you have choices. Sell it. Donate it. Keep it. The youngest, a giver like his mother, went with donate. But then I visited the new place and decided, you know what, you kind of have room for this thing in the living room. Dumbly, everyone agreed with me, a rare occurrence, and so the donation was cancelled, which I've come to realize is very bad karma, especially in the vicinity of the High Holy Days. If you cancel a good deed, it comes back to bite you in the ass. Remember that, nice people. Turns out, a sofa bed and a giant L-shaped sectional shouldn't keep company in the same living room, unless you break down a wall and make room.

Equally misleading depiction 

While the new occupant stayed on hold with Direct TV, only running late by only four hours, and longtime hubby made the executive decision to reverse the refrigerator doors (don't ask), my lovely daughter-in-law and I understood we had an unwieldy Design Dilemma on our hands, a catastrophe that even the movers had to acknowledge, along the lines of, "Maybe this should go there." "Maybe this shouldn't go there." I caved quickly. "Who wants a sofa bed? Practically new." Out the door and back into the truck it went, its custody to be settled amicably by the movers. But we still had the unsolved sectional situation. The movers schlepped it over here, no, try it over there, oh wait, what about there, hang on, can you still open the front door? On the balcony, the youngest remained on hold. In the kitchen, the longtime hubby continued to curse, demonically at the fridge. In the living room, it was all good, more or less. "It's fine there, leave it." And so they did. And we decided to love it.