Anywho, on with Part 2!
Boyfriend and I are getting close to turning the big 3-0 (he's closer than I am, bwahaha.) When that happens, you start to think about "childish" parts of your life that may need to fall by the wayside to make room for new "more adult" practices (that wasn't meant to sound dirty.) One of those practices is moving. When you're young or in college you tend to move a lot. It's usually easy to bribe friends or loved ones to help you move with the promise of free pizza and beer. But, at a certain age you start to say to yourself, "I want to help my friends, but I reeeeeeeeeally don't want to do any heavy lifting" and pizza and beer bribes are no longer effective. That is one reason why Boyfriend and I said SCREW THIS when moving out of our Park Slope apartment into our current one. We made the greatest decision and investment of our lives: we hired professional movers. We are never not doing that again. They loaded everything into a truck and moved it across town and up 4 flights of stairs into the new apartment. Among these items moved was our loyal, comfy Big Purple Couch. I don't know how the movers got Big Purple Couch up the 4 flights of very narrow stairs, but they did.
|Our movers were even more awesome than-OHMYGODNOTHINGISAWESOMERTHANTHIS!|
Serendipitously, Boyfriend's boss had an unused couch in storage and offered to loan it to us until the time came when he
Throughout the evening I had been making jokes about how everything in life could relate back to an episode of Friends (remember that show? I feel old.) As the boys were moving the heavy-ass Pistachio couch up the stairs, I was
After getting our "new" couch into the apartment, Matt and Boyfriend picked up the much lighter Big Purple Couch to take it downstairs to put on the street for the trash truck. But, Big Purple Couch had other plans. Getting down the stairs was much more of a struggle than expected. It was as if the stairwell got narrower and narrower the further down they went. Or as if the couch deliberately expanded itself. The boys struggled but managed to squeeze Big Purple Couch down the stairwell, until they got to the very last turn to the outside door. There was some sort of electrical box on the wall in the corner on the first flight of stairs blocking the couch. Matt and Boyfriend struggled and pushed and heaved and finagled for an hour. An. HOUR. It was not possible to get the couch down the stairs, which made absolutely no sense to us since the movers were able to get it up the stairs. Our tiny exhausted minds were blown as the oh-no-what-are-we-going-to-do-with-an-extra-couch-now thoughts began to sink in. We eventually hypothesized that when the springs had snapped, the couch frame expanded just enough to prevent it from fitting back down the stairs. We took the couch back up to our apartment to have a drink break and a brainstorming session.
Brilliant idea #1: We had roof access. We could take Big Purple Couch up to the roof until we could come up with a solution to getting it out of the building, like getting more people to help and maybe some ropes to lower down to the ground floor from the roof. This plan was quickly dashed when I discovered the assholes who own our building had installed an alarm and deadbolt on the door to the roof.
To quote a wise man, Bobby Singer: Balls.
|I love that our emergency exit is dead-bolted shut with a rusty latch. I feel so safe.|
Brilliant Idea #2: Like Ross, we would have to cut the couch into halves. It was sad and hilarious at the same time. While we loved Big Purple Couch, it had died and we had no other choice. We had passed the point of no return. Armed with nothing more than a hand saw and pliers (and for the record, I do believe we are the only New Yorkers who own tools) Boyfriend and Matt successfully performed the couch-ectomy. It was loud. It was messy. It was exhausting. For them, I'm sure. I just stood around and watched.
|And documented the travesty of course|
|Men at work|
But, as all things, it too had to have an end. As Boyfriend told me the other day when I was afraid this story had too sad of an ending for anyone other than me to find it funny: "It was a good couch, but its insides broke and we had to put it down. It was best for all involved." And this is why I love him. He will slay a dying couch for me and make me laugh when I wax nostalgic about it.