Sunday, October 4, 2009
White Couches and Husbands Don't Mix
When I was a little girl, I couldn't wait to have a white couch. To me, women with white couches were the same women with perfect pink lips, the highest of high heels, and the sweetest of smiles. Women with white couches were women who were so well mannered and so neat, they never spilled or made messes, they just effortlessly existed. So when I moved out on my own, one of my first purchases was a crisp white couch. I'd waited years to be one of these women, and for about three years I was. (This is not to say that I existed effortlessly, lol, but I did manage to keep my red wine, MAC lipgloss, and school supplies off of the couch). My white couch was as gorgeous as I'd always dreamed of. Then I met my husband Matt, and to our delight, we were able to merge our lives and our furniture together. Soon after though, my white couch became my white couch with a spot, then two spots, then several spots. He pointed out the impracticality of a white couch, and I tried to point out what women with white couches represented. He didn't quite get it, and after several movie nights, homework all nighters, and homecooked meals together, my white couch just wasn't the same. So with some well placed subtle comments and gentle prodding, he initiated a trip to Houston to replace my Barbie dream couch with a more practical/man friendly/gray couch (see below). Sigh...it was a hard thing to give up and a hard change to make, but I did manage to get a fuchsia pillow on the practical/man friendly/gray couch. So for now, I'm adjusting to my new couch and hoping I can be the woman I've always dreamed of, even with my practical/man friendly/gray couch.