April 11, 2020
I love you for all of the comfort you offer. I spent tens of hours searching the internet for you. My eyes ran dry and red, pained by the blue light. But then I found you -velvety and turquoise and well over budget. It took you 8 weeks beyond the initial 6 week delivery timeline to arrive, but when you did, all of the rage I felt for those past months melted as I myself melted into your cozy embrace. My cheeks on your cushion were meant to be.
You were my first real adult purchase, and though 9 years have passed and faded your luster, you remain irreplaceable.
And now by the graces of forced quarantine, I get to spend even more time with you. I see you with fresh eyes. I am filled with gratitude.
Thank you for accepting my years of flatulence. I have only steam cleaned you once over the near decade we’ve spent together, and you’ve absorbed that horrid odor time and time again, never throwing it back in my face. You’ve hidden it well from guests well, never daring to reveal my dark, scented secret.
Thank you for your stain resilience. I’m amazed spilled red wine and melted chocolate have yet to best you.
Thank you for being oh so soft. I can bounce over the back of you and roll onto that massive cushion with instant delight.
And who knew that delight would spread to my beasts of burden? The cats adore your frame so much so that they require minimal cat-specific furniture. Your strong presence is the preferred perch from which they hunt each other and beg for food.
OH FOOD. Almost every dinner and breakfast over the years have been consumed whilst nuzzled into your nook. So much so, I’ve preferred to go without a dining table.
Your rounded corners fit us perfectly on either side as we enter into another night of television viewing. And when I’m ready to shift from ‘my side’ to Ryan’s arm, we merge into a single contented chorus of sloth.
I’m sorry for taking you for granted; for neglecting you. In spite of each fight, food spillage or fart, you continue to accept me each and every day, never with judgement. So I promise, the next time I can go 12 - 16 hours without collapsing into you, I’ll give you a sturdy, steam-clean.
March 26, 2021
I’m blowing you to smithereens when I get out of here.