You guys, I found my hate couch. It’s the perfect dusty, moldy tweed. A little muted, and still not quite as hideous as the original inspiration, but it’ll do, pig. It’ll do.

I had been watching it on Craigslist. They wanted forty dollars for the damn thing. Then they marked it down to twenty. I got it for free, because, really.  Ironically, the ad said, “Love the 70’s? You’ll love this couch!”  If they only knew that “loving” this couch was not my intention. I had loaded it up and was just about to sneak away when the lady came out and asked me what I wanted with a 70’s couch. Perhaps there was just a little too much twinkle in my eye. I managed a non-committal response and peeled out of her cul-de-sac, fast.

Bonus: I picked it up in a suburb that looked like the neighborhood where I grew up. Even more bonus: the name of the street was shockingly similar to the name of the street I lived on. In fact, it was exactly a mash up of the street I lived on and the closest cross street. What? Little signs like that make me feel like God is with me. You guys, I think God really wanted me to have this hate couch.

The nice thing about moving a hate couch is that you don’t care if it gets pushed out of your car and tumbles into the street. I push-dragged it into the garage. Of course, I had to explain to my young children what it was for. Their response was like, “Cool. Can I destroy it, too?” They totally got why I wanted to destroy a couch. But it’s my hate couch. All mine. I let them give it a good kick, and told them they can go scream in a pillow or something, but only Mommy can destroy this couch.

My plan is to not have too much of a plan, and to work on it as the mood strikes. I want to take my time with it. In the garage, I have easy access to power tools, paint, and anything else I want to (literally) throw at it. I did take a sledgehammer to one corner already, and it was marvelous.

I’ll post an update with some “after” photos shortly.

 

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