The Old Gray Couch

Dear Readers,

When I was young, my family had an old gray couch. It was a ragged old thing. I remember that for the last year or so that we had it, the cushions sagged in so much that we wedged a piece of plywood in there to make the couch sit-able.

Mom hated the couch, but I loved it.

One day my Mom finally borrowed somebody’s pickup truck and hauled it off to the dump. That night, Mom beamed as she came home with a new thousand-dollar couch from a fancy furniture store.

I was angry about the new couch. It looked like it belonged in a museum, behind a velvet rope. So I purposefully spilled a whole glass of milk on it.

I remember that I made Mom cry, and she yelled at me. That might have been the worst thing I’ve ever done.

When I was in high school, I wrote the following poem about the old gray couch.

The Old Gray Couch

What is the couch to me?
It is the haven from the outside world.
It is the falling apart gray piece of junk.
It is the place I lay for TV.
It is a dirty filthy slob hangout.
It is the place I have slept on countless nights.
It is where I’ve spent lazy summer afternoons playing Super Nintendo.
It is where I’ve spent insomnia-filled nights watching exciting new informercials that will change my life.
It is where I’ve seen Howard Berg mega speed-read Rush Limbaugh blather.
It is where I’ve had stimulating conversations about TV and Super Nintendo games.
It is where I’ve spent at least 40 % of my life.
It is where I’ll be living in 10 years.
It is the symbol of laziness and idleness everywhere.
It is the place I’ve thought up many schemes to get rich after I’m a bum in the gutter.
It is the place I’ve seen countless TV movies, most of which are dumb.
It is the place I ran to when I skipped last summer’s wrestling camp to watch valuable television.
It is the thing that hasn’t been cleaned ever since its creation.
It is the place I’ve beaten Super Mario Brothers 15 times consecutively.
It is the place I hate to leave.
It is where I wanna be forever.
It is where several TV remote controls have been hiding for years.
It is the place I envision when I think of heaven.
It is the place with Kool-Aid stains, apple-sauce-mush, and salsa drippings all over it.
It is where I have spent lots of my time eating yummy gummy bears.
It is where I have eaten, and will continue to eat, five pounds of red licorice per week.
It is where I lay when I watch Bruce Lee movies with no plot.
It is where the Simpsons weekly influence my young and impressionable brain.
It is where I always want to be.
It is the place I love.