I hate the couch. The misshapen back pillows and sunken-in seat cushions are the root cause of my constant shoulder pain. The cat slashed each corner to resemble the contents of a paper shredder and the pillows must be flipped so that the “not-so-disgusting” sides rest face up. I’ve daydreamed about the morning I get to toss it, piece by piece, out the front door. I even planned to take a saw to it for fun.
But the couch is coming with me, to its new corner inside my new home, a two-bedroom condo a few miles from the kids and my soon-to-be ex-wife. You see, my disgust for the couch is equaled only by my children’s love of its tattered corners, buckled padding, and assorted spots and spills. They find it comforting, which is a good quality to have in a piece of furniture. And I wanted them to be comforted.