It’s a sad, sad day up in Chez Broad, for we are fast approaching the end of an era. What might that be, you ask? Am I admitting defeat and getting rid of my size 10-12 clothes? Am I getting a real job with benefits? Nay nay. I’m getting a new couch. As early as Thursday.

Yeah, you’d think that would be an exciting thing, and once it’s here, it probably will be. Thing is, I don’t want to let my current couch go; it’s been with me the entire 9 years I’ve been here, and it’s the first piece of furniture I ever bought. And it was REAL, not a futon. Cost me $650, and I paid cash. True, I was never really excited about the flower pattern, and the fact that it’s cream gave me pause, but it’s been a good, comfy couch (ask Cat Rags and Headcase—they’ve both logged time on it). Memories have been made on that couch. I’ve laughed, cried, had insane sex on it (shutup, you have too on your own couches), taken so many naps on it. Hell, I’ve probably slept more on it than I have in my bed. And I’ve been trying for months to figure out how I can get a few more years out of it, but it’s yellowed and the middle cushion is way flat and fabric torn beyond repair; and the alternatives—reupholstering or tight-fit slipcovers—aren’t much less expensive than the new couch (which I got for a steal: $380 with shipping!), and on and on and on. My sister was like, “Hey, out with the old, and in with the new,” and she’s right for various and sundry reasons, but I’m more of the “loyal to their toilet paper” type, so this is kind of a struggle for me. I suppose it doesn’t help that I have anthropomorphic tendencies and am convinced my couch will suffer severe abandonment issues once it leaves the confines of my crib.

If there’s any good to come out of this, it’s that I finally have to clean the living room that I’ve been saying I’ll clean for months now.