… I might be in trouble.
When I graduated from college and began an internship in Miami, a place by the way I’d never even visited, I had very little furniture. I’d been living mostly in the sorority house and had never had to purchase anything aside from a computer desk and a storage unit. I was going to be living in an “efficiency” apartment, and was bummed I would be getting something so small in space. (Worth noting I believe it was somewhere between 650-700 square feet – the palatial likes of which I’m likely to not see again any time soon)
When I moved in though, I needed a bed. I needed a couch too. Well, I basically needed everything. Not wanting to have to purchase a ton of items all at once, I decided a futon was perfect. It wasn’t too expensive and then I could have a bed and a couch. Brilliant. As it turns out, the bed was kind of hard to fold out and for me, wasn’t quite a one person job. More often than not, when I came home after a draining day of speaking Spanish all day at work, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed. And I could probably count on one hand the number of times I actually would then convert it back over to a couch (those would be the rare cases where I had guests). Those were the animal print days, where I decided an animal print throw would serve to brighten up its black cover.
Eventually when I was hired on full-time and discovered I wasn’t leaving Miami anytime soon, I decided to buy an actual bed. Who knew sleeping could be so wonderful? And then the futon downgraded to my couch. When I finally left the Sunshine State and headed north to DC, I even changed out the mattress. The inexpensive starter version had proved no match for the frequent use. I even bought a fancy cover with a raised design which made it look almost like a couch. Perfect.
This futon’s watched me go from a serious relationship to trying the oh-so-fun dating scene in three metro areas. It’s accommodated hinies from the worthy to the unworthy… stable to flaky. Thank goodness it ain’t talking. It’s held friends crowded into my midtown efficiency apartment, so they could all be here for my first birthday party in the city (yes, the one where I rode the bull). It’s accommodated countless visits from my DC friends who came up to visit me after I made the move further north to NYC. It’s even the location of choice for my dad to sleep when my parents come into town for a visit. Even though my apartment may be small, it hasn’t kept me from hosting events. I had a large housewarming in both places. 35-40 people in a small space? No problem. Squeeze ’em on the trusty futon.
More recently, it’s become Dixie’s go-to spot. She loves the futon. She burrows into the fold along the back when her faces itches. When she’s so revved up she can hardly take it, she starts to run laps on the futon. It’s quite funny. It’s also where I find her sleeping in the evenings when I come home from work. It’s her home base, and where she’ll usually concede to sit (somewhat) still and watch TV with me. Just because it’s where I am.
Last night, the guys from one donation organization I found showed up and took it away. Within 5 minutes … poof … it was gone. It’s weird to think of home without it since it’s been there so long. It’s where my guests are supposed to initially place their things when they arrive. Where I’m supposed to eat pizza with my girlfriends when its wine night. And where guys I’m just starting to date are first bombarded with the fiery furball known as Dixie. And now, well, now things just look bare (until its replacement arrives next Wednesday) but sometimes it’s just time. And it was time.