getting by with a little help from our friends (and my calendar)

First things first:

Sad Elephant is getting a new home!

Sad Elephant in his sad glory*

* photo included for reference in case you, like my father, are unaware that "Sad Elephant" refers to a couch. And in case you are also unaware, yes, the Philiraos name a large majority of their belongings.

Most likely, he'll be moving in with one of our dear friends, who likes him far more than her current couch. That is, if he manages to fit in the back of her brother's car. All signs (and measurements) point to yes.

Also, I would like to point out that it is a good idea to put things on one's calendar. When I called for my Salvation Army pickup, I wrote down the date on my scratch pad. I entered the date, time, and confirmation number into my phone, along with the number to call and change the appointment.

The date was Friday, November 4th.

I proceeded to transmute this date into Friday, October 28th, aka: tomorrow. Pretty sure I did that out of desperation to get Sad Elephant out of our house. He kinda-sorta fits in the room (space-wise), but he's really impinging on our pilates practice space. And my pilates practice in general.

Yes, a couch refuses to let me exercise. New couch doesn't help the situation, as it is really freaking comfortable.

Husband and I are really happy that someone we know is taking Sad Elephant. True, we have been eager to get rid of him and move on to our modern living room, but we still have an emotional attachment to the couch. We've spent probably a year cuddling on that couch, if that's possible. (I did the math. Five years living together, a few hours a day spent cuddling on the couch, we've probably spent a year on it. What? We're excellent cuddlers. We'd win gold in the cuddle olympics.) This is not to say that we will go over to our friend's apartment and cuddle on our former couch. That would be weird. Cuddlers, yes. Weird, no. (At least we try not to be.)

So, in this situation, we'll have visitation rights. We're giving the couch up for adoption. It's a great way to treat your furniture. Show it that it's still loved, just by someone else now.

Best part of all of this?  Because the Salvation Army pickup is actually next Friday, if the couch refuses to fit in the back of the car, it still has someplace to go, and I don't have to wait for another appointment. (Because the Salvation Army has the waiting list of a really fancy restaurant. For serious.)

I hope, for everyone involved, this works out painlessly.

I hope, in the future, I will stop referring to pieces of furniture with personal pronouns.  (Haven't determined if new couch is masculine or feminine. Perhaps neuter. I think it refuses to gender identify, as it is modernist.)