The Couch. Look at it just glaring at me. Defying me to drop something on it.
The good thing about this print is that it camouflages cigarette burns very well.
This is similar in theme to “The Goverment is out to get me“. A general paranoid whine, I suppose.
This fucking couch has been out to get me from day one.
First of all, this is no ordinary couch.
This is couch is upholstered in a Leopard print fabric. (As you can see.)
Like the couch of some over-weight, worn-out, Bollywood B-grade movie star.
Imagine her lying on it, draped in a hot-pink satin fabric, while eating rasgullas. When she runs out of rasgullas she claps her sticky hands together to summon her man Friday, Sreekanth to bring her some rasmalai instead.
The ex’s mother sent us these couches. She had them specially made and then shipped across the seas all the way from the Punj.
Not satisfied with the Leopard print, these couches also have cushion covers in a soft brown suede fabric.
Suede! The most easily wrecked of all materials. It’s not even in a dark colour. It’s light brown!
It’s like the couch is purposely trying to entice me to sit on it, so I can spill something and have the ex subsequently murder me.
Just look at it. Doesn’t it just seem like its saying,
“Oh look sit on me, just have a seat…no no I won’t stain my pristine, suede-ness, don’t worry beta ha ha. Of course I’d never lie to you, I’m your friend…”
Such a fucking liar! I try (as much as possible) to sit on an expendable cloth that covers the couch.
This is not to protect the couch, but to protect me from the wrath of the ex. This couch stains just by breathing on it.
“Come come, eat a meal on me. No, no don’t worry! If you spill anything and it’ll come right off!”
Nothing comes off suede. It is the devil’s fabric. All the furniture in hell is probably upholstered in suede and should you find yourself there you will spend all eternity worrying about what you may or may not have spilled on it.
Also I feel this eerie growing superstitious paranoia that the ex’s mother purposely sent this couch to ‘get me’. This couch has given me many heart palpitations in the past.
Once I was just sitting on it, innocently minding my own business… and drawing with a ball-pen (Reynolds – still good) and I accidentally swiped my hand across and a little black mark went on one of the pillows.
I don’t remember a lot of what happened later but there was some shouting and screaming and threats of,
“You better fix the couch! I mean it! You better fix it!!”
“I DONT CARE!! JUST FIX IT!”
I get that a lot.
The ex accuses me of ruining everything.
Which is ironic. My mother used to say that to me.
I accidentally broke one of her ceramic photo frames (one of my mother’s many collections) and in response she said very melodramatically,
“FINE! FINE! JUST BREAK EVERYTHING!! RUIN EVERYTHING!! I CAN NEVER HAVE ANYTHING NICE IN THIS HOUSE!!!”
HERE!! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW??”
On ‘HERE’ my mother grabbed another frame and smashed it on the ground. (Very silly.)
So the next time I broke a ceramic painted plate, (I was yawning and stretching. It happens.) to avoid any more tantrums, I hid it in my underwear drawer and then spent hours painstakingly, (and surreptitiously) glueing it together in the forlorn hope that she’d never even notice.
Of course she found it in my underwear drawer (I should have hidden it under the underwear), but I’m comforted by the fact that it took her a few days to find it. She didn’t have a tantrum. I think by now she’d grown accustomed to the idea of her unfortunately clumsy child.
Back to the couch and its vindictive campaign to get me:
Another time, I was sitting on the couch, yet again, harmlessly minding my own business, when I happened to notice a small burn on one of the suede cushions.
I started having cold sweats. I was pretty sure I didn’t make it. But if I didn’t warn the ex in advance, guaranteed I’d get blamed for it.
So I had to grit my teeth, steel my nerves and call the ex at work.
I prepped the scene with my stellar opening,
“OK. Baby. Don’t get mad. I have some bad news…”
Always open with the bad news, (the good news is that I didn’t do it)
“…what is it?”
“Uhm, I noticed a black mark on one of the cushions…
The ex must have been in a more than usually benevolent mood, because I passed. Whew.
Recently I was washing the cover I usually sit on (a rare moment of domestic responsibility) and then sat on the couch after painting something, and before I knew it a smudge of white acrylic paint went on one of the cushions. (which just goes to show you how unrewarded I am for my domestic responsibility).
It was after so long! And I had been so good! I really tried, really really REALLY, not to spill anything on that couch.
This is why I’m convinced, that it’s a curse. The couch has it in for me.
The ex was mad, and I couldn’t even say anything to defend myself. I mean, I don’t even know how the paint got on the couch. It wasn’t even on me this time. It must have been on my laptop and I didn’t notice.
Now I have to try scraping it very gently with a sharp scalpel in the hope the white paint will flake off.
It’ll probably leave a patch. (sigh)
Suede is an evil, evil fabric.