Couched in Mystery
It's a Sunday evening and I'm sitting here in the living room watching bad television, relaxing after a long, tiring week (in a good way) ... and typing stuff like this using the large, low-end laptop that weighs something like half a metric ton soaking wet.
My living room looks somewhat presentable these days. My parents got a new sofa (because, like, their old one was, well, boring or something), and I inherited their "old" sofa, which was in far better condition than the one we'd had in here before. We'd been using a gray loveseat sofabed (circa 1984) with a board stuck under the cushions, making it mildly unpleasant to sit on for more than the length of an average sitcom.
Oddly enough, my mother's sofa matches my window valances and other furniture and decorations in the living room as if we'd picked it out ourselves.
It's frightening sometimes how uncanny my mother's ability is to do or say just the right thing for me at just the right time. Not that I'm complaining.
Tomorrow's Entry: Matching Slipcovers!
(Well, okay, not really.)