A Letter To My New Couch

Dear Couch,

I remember the first time I saw you there, so oblivious to my lascivious stare. I clicked through your online profile, soaking in picture after picture of you, each one revealing a new, exciting angle. I read your description and particulars to mounting excitement; you met the exact specifications my situation called for.

So I arranged a time to meet you, and when that time came, I approached with a certain feeling of trepidation. I scanned the crowded showroom for you, my heart pulsing quickly in my chest, wondering if I had made the right decision. But when my eyes fell upon you, so large and white and pillowy amongst the others surrounding you, I was struck by a new conviction.

I quickened my pace; I could see others eyeing you rapaciously. One even had the audacity to reach out and stroke your back as he idly strolled by. When I reached you, I didn’t hesitate to sit upon you. You received me with comfort and familiarly. And then something overcame me, and I very boldly lay upon you. Maybe I was already falling in love then, maybe it was too soon to tell—all I knew for sure was that I wanted you badly.

Even though we’d only known each other briefly, I took you home right away. It was the first time I had ever taken a couch home as my own. But you were in pieces, and I had to figure out how to put you together. The manual you came with was somewhat helpful, but you seemed to resist me and my undying urge to make you whole again.

And so we had our first fight. You refused to open up to me, to reveal your secrets, to show me your true self. I responded drastically, throwing your manual at you and saying things I didn’t really mean. I wanted you to give yourself to me as a whole — I was sick of staring at pieces of you strewn across my living room floor, wondering how they could possibly all fit together.

Finally, we got there. I calmed down and applied patience and a tender hand, to which you relented. I began piecing you together, slowly and carefully, and you let me. Soon we stood together, side-by-side, complete. For the first time I felt like a fully functioning human adult. I was proud I had persisted and solved the problem, and that now we would be embarking upon a beautiful friendship together.

And now you, my dear first couch, receive me with compassion. You reward my patience daily, as I sit upon you, drinking tea and relating my every feeling. I know you will be there for me from now on, because I was there for you when you needed to be put back together. You will embrace every side of me, literally and figuratively. May I never rest my tired buttocks against another, my love.

Yours faithfully,

Kat Thought Catalog Logo Mark

image – IKEA

I am Kat George, Vagina Born. Mother of food babies. WHERE ARE MY BURRITOS?!?! Buy my book here.

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