After over 23 years our beloved 8 foot sofa with the pretty caning on the sides is falling apart. People sit down and find themselves sinking quickly. All those years ago, as we pinched pennies to furnish our new apartment, we had marveled over how my sister-in-law had found the sofa, two matching chairs, a table, and three lamps at a yard sale. We’d bought all those pieces for $100. The furniture was in great shape and served us well, even as children began crawling over it just a few years later.
So when Eric suggested we go shopping for a new sofa for our anniversary, being sentimental, I felt torn. I know it is indeed time to let the sofa go, for it isn’t even comfortable anymore, but the idea of seeing it hauled off to the dump seems wrong. Paul quickly suggested it be donated to his friend’s “mancave”. “MANCAVE?! A twelve year old with a mancave?!” No, I don’t think I could go for that. Someone then suggested it might be wanted soon by our college girl who might get her own apartment next year. But knowing the length of the sofa, it would take a relatively large room to house it, and again, it’s a matter of time before the bottom falls out completely.
Despite knowing the fate of the old sofa, Eric and I went shopping for a new sofa, a sectional that would be large enough to fit our family and company too. Within a half hour of shopping we’d spotted one we both liked and could afford. We bought it and before we knew it, the sofa had been delivered into our family room. The delivery men picked up the old 8 foot sofa with the pretty caning and placed it in the garage.