The sofa in my living room is soft. Comfortable, leathery, delicate, bouncy-- all you could ask for in a sofa. In addition, it's the color of almonds and peaches. What more could you want in furniture?
On the other hand, the el-cheapo
sofa couch gray thing in my family room is durable. Mad durable. It's been around for the past twenty years and some. The cushions aren't flat, the wood isn't rotting, and the fabric isn't stained. The only deficiency in the sofa couch gray thing is the single tear on the left arm. Small, but just big enough to show the point of a block of wood inside the sofa couch gray thing. I like it. Or so I used to like it. Really I did. You bond with everyone and everything you see on an everyday basis. I bonded with my sofa couch gray thing. We talked small talk. We talked about the weather. Had tea together at half past twelve. Even entertained the guests emsemble.
But two days ago, the rotten ol' backstabbing
sofa couch gray thing sat in the wrong place at the wrong time, and caused my left hand to smack onto the piece on wood that jutted out. Bruise alert.
The bruise began to go away yesterday, and nearly disappeared this afternoon. Out of respect for the
sofa couch gray thing, I had decided to go apologize. Perhaps it hadn't been entirely his fault. But what did that good for nothing wastrel sofa couch gray thing do? Take a good guess. I dare you to.
Exactly. And that is why I'm left with a lump the size of Guam on my left side, about 1.5 inches down from my thumb and slightly above my wrist. It throbs like cheese in a microwave. And it's not the color of almonds and peaches. It's more of a 'raspberries gone bad' shade.
The sweet fragrance of white nectarine.
It perfumes every room I enter.
What's that I hear?
You don't smell it?
29 inches coming your way!
Okay, I admit it.
So, I do have split-ends.
So my split-ends have split-ends.
So my split-ends' split-ends have split-ends.
But who's to say I need a hair cut?
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