A decade ago, I read that if your furniture resembles a Muppet, you need new furniture. First world middleclass problem if ever there was one. But, sure enough, when we move our old couch and loveseat in from the garage after our remodel, I don't have to watch Sesame Street to see the obvious—we have two Muppets living in our family room. In fact, those Muppets have been with us our entire married life ...
It wasn't like we didn't want new furniture. It's just that, let's face it, Muppet furniture is darn comfortable. Especially how we used it—to get horizontal. Which was fine for the three of us, since by the time we hit the couches in the evening, it was lying-down time. There were, however, just two sofas and three adult-size bodies, so I usually ended up on the floor on a futon—a perfect place to take a pre-bedtime nap.
 | When we had company, we couldn't all lie down, but there was a problem with sitting up. Over the decades (yes, decades), our Muppets had broken down. If you sat on the same cushion as someone else, you were in trouble—you needed a third person to give you an assist to get up. And it didn't work to put one butt cheek on one cushion and the other cheek on another. That created a crevasse—you might never be heard from again. |
The search for a functional, comfortable, husband-approved couch begins. Given that Mike is a mechanical engineer, who gets even more attached to people and things than I do, the qualifications quickly turn into the null-set. Over the next few years, I sit on hundreds of couches. Every time I make a trip to the mall, I try out every sofa there. I find something wrong with each one—too big, too small, too deep, too shallow, too hard, too soft, wrong fabric, wrong color and inevitably ... not as comfortable as the Muppet twins. If I do find something I like sitting on, I catch myself relaxing on one of our Muppets' cousins.
There's another issue. Not long after our honeymoon, we congratulate ourselves on scoring a set of reduced-price Early American furniture from a store that's going out of business (that should have given us a clue). I suspect that once we get rid of our Muppets, we're going to have to get rid of our other furniture too. Knowing I'm heading into tricky marital territory, I give up.
Then one day, I stop in at a local modern furniture store. Having just jumped on the Mad Men bandwagon (as the seventh and last season is ending, we start watching), I fall in love with an expensive MAD MEN-type sectional. In fact, it's love at first sit. There are only a couple of snags. 1) It's leather—Mike's nemesis 2) It's deep—Mike's legs are on the short side 3) It has to be ordered—given my OCD-ishness, that's sure to be a problem and 4) Oh, yeah, the price tag.
Then one day, I stop in at a local modern furniture store. Having just jumped on the Mad Men bandwagon (as the seventh and last season is ending, we start watching), I fall in love with an expensive MAD MEN-type sectional. In fact, it's love at first sit. There are only a couple of snags. 1) It's leather—Mike's nemesis 2) It's deep—Mike's legs are on the short side 3) It has to be ordered—given my OCD-ishness, that's sure to be a problem and 4) Oh, yeah, the price tag.
| I persevere, and after seeing a photo of the sectional with fabric seats and leather back (a scathingly brilliant idea—glad I thought of it), drag Mike and Drew to the store while I pore over fabric samples. I know I want brown, but which brown? Tan, chocolate, sepia, copper, chestnut, camel, sienna—while the choices are endless, I can't seem to find the brown I envision. |  |
Then, another scathingly brilliant idea. Write and ask the manufacturer what fabrics they used for the model. When I'm told the leather looks like Fifth Avenue Taupe or Bison Brown, and that the fabric could be Ultra Suede Hide or Desert Camel, I know they're wrong. Get input from others. More confused. Try to match color in carpet. Impossible. Finally decide on color.
Measure our family room a ridiculous number of times and order the sectional. Toss and turn all night. Call the store as soon as it opens the next day. "Umm ... not sure about the color. Can you stop the order?" "Sure, we've got your money, take your time." Email the manufacturer again. Finally, "Okay, looks like leather is taupe and the fabric is branch. A warning: The fabric is a representation of what your fabric will look like on your furniture. Color shade may not be exact and may vary." Obsess some more. Order it. Go on a much-needed vacation.
Measure our family room a ridiculous number of times and order the sectional. Toss and turn all night. Call the store as soon as it opens the next day. "Umm ... not sure about the color. Can you stop the order?" "Sure, we've got your money, take your time." Email the manufacturer again. Finally, "Okay, looks like leather is taupe and the fabric is branch. A warning: The fabric is a representation of what your fabric will look like on your furniture. Color shade may not be exact and may vary." Obsess some more. Order it. Go on a much-needed vacation.
Five weeks later, in the middle of entertaining out-of-town guests the phone rings: sectional is on its way. Pray that I like it—don't want to break down in front of our company over a sofa. Delivery guys unpack huge chunks of brown stuff in our rapidly shrinking family room. The Fifth Avenue Taupe leather is perfect. But you can't really see the leather, just the fabric. And the fabric looks—dare I say it—PINK! For appearances (who cries over a couch?), I try to maintain a sense of calm.
As soon as our company leaves, I grab my swatch and study it in every possible light. It doesn't look pinkish-brown. OR DOES IT? It's the light coming in from all those windows. Sister drops by. "Oh, it's nice. Looks kind of mauve." Silent scream. Call a trusted friend. "Is the swatch the same color as the couch?" "I'm afraid so. You can't return a custom sectional—you're gonna have to change the rug." Search for new rug begins. And a new table and chairs. And a new TV. And new art. But that's another post.
As soon as our company leaves, I grab my swatch and study it in every possible light. It doesn't look pinkish-brown. OR DOES IT? It's the light coming in from all those windows. Sister drops by. "Oh, it's nice. Looks kind of mauve." Silent scream. Call a trusted friend. "Is the swatch the same color as the couch?" "I'm afraid so. You can't return a custom sectional—you're gonna have to change the rug." Search for new rug begins. And a new table and chairs. And a new TV. And new art. But that's another post.
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