I love my couch.
I spend a lot of time sitting on it watching TV or reading a book. My mother would hate my posture as I lean over a small side table with my laptop on it, even now as a tap tap this out.
People often have that piece of furniture that has travelled through shared houses, lovey dovey couple apartments and single woman castles in the sky.
That worn in and simultaneously worn out comfort-food feeling place to sit who knows you so well that you regularly feed it cookie crumbs to keep your secrets.
On those sunny days when you’ve exercised until you’re sweaty and you look at each other and think, no. No, couch. I will not sit down until I shower because I like you too much to make you stinky. Yes, even after the hours of binging Netflix to the point that you smell like potato chips.
On those grey days of cold rain when you come in cold and plomp down to pull off rain boots that you can’t work out how you got on in the first place because you have to dislocate your ankle and lengthen your calves to escape them. But your socks are dry and it is worth it so you sit and sit and wish your knees weren’t wet. And it is OK that the couch got a little rain. Those days can be lonely being alone and looking out at the rain and puddle splashers.
Couch is a place to sleep. With depth. Thank goodness you got that Scotchgard option. It seemed like an unnecessary splurge at a time when you couldn’t afford it but it saved many a day and night and freak beetroot smoothie spill.
New is not always better. Perspective almost always is. Couches are silent partners, vaults of secrets and comfort when nothing else can be.
Damana Madden 
Love the appreciation you show for your couch.
This was a writing exercise but I do love my couch 🙂