What about the couches? Does nobody consider the couches? Though not my couch, certainly. It's been recently tagged by green marker and also by banana drool, but you need not worry about my couch. It's well tended.
It's the other couches we're talking about here. Are you even paying attention? Who worries about the couches?
Consider the couch. It might be a lumpy futon leftover from your first apartment. It might be all kiln-dried hardwood and double-lofted down padding. It doesn't really matter, does it? Do you respect your couch? Do you respect its soul?
Yes, couches have souls. I mean, obviously. No, it's not like your soul or my soul, but it's a soul, all the same. It's furniture-soul and it's as valid as anything else you can't see.
That disappointed furniture-soul. I mean, think about it. It enters the couch filled with hopes and dreams, and what do you do? You sit on it. What have you ever done for it?
Most couches, miserable creatures destined to suffer on this earth, see nothing but bottoms. Tushies, derrieres, butts. Plumber's cracks and wedgies and, sorry, couch, the occasional awful poopsplosion. Bottoms. It gets dusty, dirty, smelly bottoms. It gets beat down, worn down, caved in. It gets sedentary settling.
This morning, L came downstairs and jumped on the couch. Then she stood up, jumped, crossed her legs mid-air and landed in a perfect lotus formation. Then she jumped up and did it again and again. Mama! she cried. Mama! I can jump on our couch!
"Sure," I said, not quite understanding the significance of her remark. She jumps on the couch all the time. The couch thanks her for it. (She and the couch are very close.)
But then I remembered: early in last night's party, she saw our hostess's fluffy, overstuffed couch and leapt up. (And down and up and down and up and-) "No, love!" I quickly admonished, and captured her as quickly as I could. She looked at me only with confusion. "Not everybody's couches are for jumping, sweetie, sorry."
But looking back I think, in that brief moment, I heard that couch's unexercised innards reach up and high-five L's feet. I'm pretty sure its soul cried out, "Yes! Oh, yes! Bounce meeeeeeeeeee..."