You know you’re an adult when one of the things you’re most excited about in your life is getting a new couch.
We’ve been talking about a new one for years and have always deemed it “unnecessary” since we have a couch that works. And by works, I mean it’s missing 75% of an arm because Sookie ate it and it’s incredibly uncomfortable to sit on now that the cushions have lost their fluff since it’s nearly 20 years old. With us both working from home now and the living room partially being our office, it finally got to the point that we figured out it truly didn’t meet our needs (or our pets needs who seem to think they have dibs on it before we do.) So we talked about getting a new one in a month or two.
And then we walked into a local furniture store to browse, only to walk out with a delivery date for the couch above. Now all I can think about is how horrible our couch is, and how it managed to become even more uncomfortable overnight because I know we’re getting a new one next week.
And I’m also a little sad that it feels like Christmas Eve while we wait for it. It makes me feel way older than I am.