~ Saggy Bottoms ~

My father died six years ago.  I loved him dearly.

Years before, when he retired, he downsized all his crap.  And by crap, I mean furniture, clothes, gadgets, piles and piles of junk, and all the other stuff we accumulate throughout our lifetime.  He gave it all away to hapless family and friends, and when he moved from Potomac to Bethany Beach, he was substantially lighter in the stuff department.

One of the things he handed down to me was an old Chesterfield Sofa he had bought when he and my mother divorced in 1971.  That couch had stayed with him in one way or another all this time.  I remember playing Atari on it. I remember time outs on it.  I remember hiding behind it for hide and seek.  I remember napping on it.  And now, it’s mine.

I  love this couch.

It’s got no small amount of sentiment attached to it.

But this couch, sadly, is showing its wear and tear.  Two generations of children jumping on it, decades of adult naps on it, plenty of food and beverage spilled on it…ugh.  If you look at the picture above, you’ll see where the springs have given up the ghost.  When you sit on it, you sink a lot farther than you expect to.  The abrupt, often rapid descent, can be alarming….and tons of fun to watch when it happens to an unsuspecting soul.  It’s not right for us to let it happen, but it is fun.

Obviously, the couch is in disrepair.  The leather is tearing.

The button holes, which are missing buttons, are full of unknown substances, some of which may in fact date to my childhood.

The folds have lost their tightness.   And there are multiple stains in several places on it.

It’s so sad.  And lets be honest,  it’s getting gross.

We were told by a furniture repairman that to fix this couch would cost more than buying a new one, and also, that it would require the deaths of several cows.  I don’t like to think of my beloved couch as dead animal skin.  But, well, that’s what it is.  (ew.)

Unfortunately, we can’t afford to fix it.  So it was with heavy hearts that we told the kids it is time to look for a new couch.

You would have thought we had announced that we were putting the cats down.

“It was Grandpa’s!” they cried.

“That never stopped you from jumping on it even when I asked you not to.” I retorted.

“We’ll stop it now!” They begged.

“Riiiiiight.” I chuckled.

“But Mom, it would be like saying goodbye to Grandpa all over again.”

Direct Hit.  Damn these punks are good.

We came to a compromise.  We will not dispose of the couch.  But when My Captain finishes the playroom in the basement, the couch will go down there, where it will continue to be jumped on, eaten on, napped on ….. lived on.

My father would have been so pleased.