An ode to our old sofa

Dear old sofa,

today you leave our lives. You’re hideous, but you served us well.

I met you nine years ago, when your second owner was still a new love. You and a rickety bed were the only pieces of furniture in his flat. I hated you from the first moment I saw you.

You were hideous, but you served us well.

I became your joint owner a year later, my daughter made you her place of comfort, a reading nook, a bed for her dolls, a shelf for her books, a place to lean against when practising her handstands.

You’re hideous, but you served us well.

A couple years passed, you kept your shape. Your faux-Navajo print didn’t fade. Our second daughter joined us as your owner. She watched Elmo, ate crackers, drank from my breasts, slept on her dad and cuddled her sister from the comfort of your ample cushions. You never complained.

You’re hideous, but you served us well.

Another three years went by and yet another girl joined the clan. By now you were starting to show your age. Your pattern started fading, not enough to relieve my eyes, but at least it wasn’t so glaring. Your bottom started to sag. I’m sorry I’m pointing this out, but you’re one inch from starting to drag. Three girls now use you as a trampoline. You’re dismantled to make forts, you’re used to hide treasures, you’re a resting spot for my husband, but you never gave me much pleasure. I never cared much for you, so I guess I deserve the stiff necks you give me.

You’re hideous, but you served us well.

This morning, the girls bid you farewell. In a few hours, my husband and I will too. You’re still hideous, but I have to thank you. For the soft landings, the comfort, the seating space, for being such an active part of my daughters’ childhood.

You served us well.


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