I've taken yet another small leap into adulthood and bought my first couch. My first couch was my college boyfriend's futon in the apartment we shared our last year of school, which was achingly uncomfortable. And really, it was his couch.
My next couch came in the form of a large, heavy, seemingly permanent monster of a sofa that came with the apartment. It was my first place in Toronto, I moved in with a friend and we had no couch of our own, so this leave-behind suited our needs. My cats tore it a new one, and we left it behind two years later.
My third couch I bought used off a friend of a friend. It was a blue Ikea Ektorp and I got it for a whopping $500, haggled down in the 11th hour from $600. Why so much? Because I'm a sucker. The friend paid $700 plus tax and delivery for it a year earlier. Having never bought anything so large off someone and too shy to haggle with someone I know, well... anyway, it was $500. This was in 2006.
Three years later, the couch is now sitting on the side of the road. The cats murdered it some time ago, in the large window of time when I didn't have a scratching post for them, and it stopped smelling right some time this year.
So now I have a spiffy new couch from Urban Brick. A real live grown-up couch that has never been owned before. It's got an ottoman, it's sectional AND it turns into a double bed.
I went shopping for this couch with two friends of mine, lovely men who both had an inner Rolodex in their heads of all the good furniture stores in the downtown core. One of them took a picture of me buying the couch ("First grown up couch") and put it on Facebook. I was charmed and felt like a kid going to their first day of school.
All that's left for this godforsaken move is packing up and throwing things away.
As for the old couch, it's still on the curb, missing a couple cushions we kept to sit on until we move. It's been drizzling rain and the old ratty thing is a pathetic sight. I'm somehow reminded of this commericial.