My holidays were marked by a sofa I couldn’t get rid of and a Christmas tree I accidentally murdered.
How were yours?
Let’s start with the sofa.
I bought a new sofa. The old sofa had to go.
There was just one problem.
The new sofa was set to arrive on a Saturday. Trash day in my neighborhood is Friday.
Do you see the problem? I could put out my old sofa on Friday, making room for my new sofa on Saturday.
But then I’d have nowhere to sit on Friday night and Hawkeye wasn’t exactly going to watch itself, you know?
So, we decided to move the old sofa to the other side of the room until we could toss it out with the trash the following Friday.
I did not like this plan. I have been here before and I’m telling you no good comes of a situation like this.
When I was younger – and clearly more energetic – I dated two guys at the same time. Guy A was oblivious.
Don’t feel sorry for Guy A. He was a jerk. And still dating his ex-girlfriend.
And confidential to my editor, Mark – no, this wasn’t the guy that borrowed $400 before dumping me. This was a different guy. I could really pick ’em, back in the day. We’ll talk.
Anyway, Guy B knew all about Guy A, so when I wound up at a party attended by both Guy A and Guy B, Guy B was cool. He didn’t blow my cover. But it was a stressful night. I left the party early and broke up with everybody the next day.
Two-timing is chaotic. I’m not good with chaos.
And this is why I wasn’t happy with the plan to have two sofas in the same room for a week. If I wanted to be stressed, I’d go drink some Coors Lights at a basement party while my crappy boyfriend asks me how I know my other boyfriend.
On Sunday morning, I sat on my new sofa, my old sofa staring me down. My husband entered the room, coffee in hand. He settled himself on the old sofa.
“This is nice!” he said. “It’s great having so many places to sit. We’ll have more room when people come over.”
Which was just wrong. Not only was the old sofa not staying but I don’t have people over because I don’t like people. And he’s also not supposed to talk to me in the morning because I’m not a morning person and can’t be expected to be kind.
“The sofa isn’t staying,” I grumbled.
I am also not verbose in the morning.
I was set to haul the sofa to the curb on Thursday night when my son piped up.
He had a friend sleeping over that weekend. Two sofas would be perfect for a sleepover. Couldn’t we keep the old sofa another week?
I’m not sure why his bunk bed wasn’t perfect for a sleepover, but I capitulated. The sofa could stay another week.
The days rolled by. I was desperate to have the sofa gone by Christmas because I follow @_yafavtrashman on Instagram. I’ve learned trashing a sofa along with your Christmas tree and detritus from Christmas morning makes you just as much of a jerk as Guy A.
I don’t want to be my trash collector’s Guy A.
When Thursday night rolled around, I was in the emergency room with my dad. He’s fine now. I’m much better at taking care of my dad than I am at dating two guys.
I rolled in close to ten that night, exhausted and willing to let the old sofa crash at my place for another week.
But now it was Christmas.
So the old sofa still sits in my house. My kids think the sofa is staying. My husband is asking what’s the harm, but maybe he never had a problem dating two girls at once.
This article from The New York Times says to make a plan when you’re getting rid of stuff. But it occurs to me that I didn’t have a plan when I got rid of Guy A.
I’ve had two plans to get rid of the sofa.
Guy A went a lot easier.
The New York Times also says to show 2022 who is in charge.
I think The New York Times wants me to be in charge. I’m not. The old sofa is in charge.
So was the Christmas tree. That’s not why I killed it, but maybe I should pretend that’s why I killed it. Maybe I can scare off the old sofa.
After all, I dumped Guy A. Why should a sofa be so hard?