I have three stories for you this evening.
Almost four years ago, when I was living in Cincinnati, I decided to go see a play. In those days I was more active in theater, so I was sure I'd bump into someone I knew, and I did: my friend "Gordon," a very interesting sort of dude who is very catlike in his attention span. He takes everything very earnestly and seriously, but not for very long.
After the show, we went to Shanghai Mama's for Chinese food. I mentioned that I was thinking of buying a loveseat. "A loveseat?" he said. "No kidding. This week I'm working at _____ Furniture. They're having a closing sale. You should come by. I'll hook you up." I didn't think working at a furniture store was the sort of thing you did for a week, but that's Gordon.
Show up I did, and he showed me several loveseats that were just not calling my name. "Well, there's always the clearance room." Gordon ushered me in, and behold, just as we entered the room, a voice was heard on the storewide speakers: "Now in the clearance rooms. Sofas and loveseats for only $25. First-come, first-served."
I executed a near-perfect dive onto the nearest loveseat, a blue suede number with puffy cushions, and claimed it as my own.
The fella has never taken to it, really, but after an adventure like that, I'm quite attached.
Here it is, back in the apartment in Cincinnati:
Now for story number two!
A year ago, not long after I purchased my Boye Needlemaster set, I was knitting something or other (been too long) on the blue suede loveseat. I did not stand up. I did not change position much at all. I set my knitting in my lap and watched the end of what was probably Pride and Prejudice or something. Then when I reached for the Needlemaster case to put away the needles... one of them was gone.
I lifted the cushions, I looked underneath, I shook out the blankets: I looked everywhere. Nowhere. One of the 10.5 tips had vanished. Completely.
And now the third story in this saga:
I have just finished moving into two different apartments. And, like the splitting of an atom, it hasn't been easy.
My fella has graciously agreed to let the blue suede loveseat continue its life with us and has taken it into his apartment. That required that he and I together test the mettle of our relationship and get the thing up three flights of narrow stairs. We survived as a couple, but we hope to hire movers next time.
Just as we reached the very top, we heard a clink, tinkle tinkle. He froze. "What's that?"
"Urk," I said, which is about all I can say when I'm carrying half a loveseat.
We were moving it into its place in his apartment and pushing it against the wall when we heard it again. Clink, tinkle tinkle.
The freakin' 10.5 needle tip!
I took off the cushions. I felt in the cracks. I searched everywhere.
We can't get it out! Not without major surgery, and I'm sorry, but that's a $25 blue suede loveseat. Ain't nobody cuttin' into my baby like that.