Yesterday I came across a picture of the cutest face in the entire universe back in the day when I used to take pictures of people, not furniture.
I had to post it.
Not just to show you that tiny, sweet face.
Or those adorable clenched hands.
Or those super long amazing tights attempting to pass themselves off as footwear.
I’m simply posting the picture here to ask you if it looks like she is about to roll her eyes at me….
…and that couch?
What was I thinking?
That couch wasn’t passed down from my great aunt’s cousin’s best friend’s sister’s yard sale.
I chose it. On purpose. With my eyes wide open.
I remember going to the furniture store and ordering the couch and picking from book after book after book of patterned fabric.
I couldn’t make up my mind until I saw that pattern in all its yellow-floral glory.
And when I saw it, I knew.
I knew that I knew that I knew that I knew….
….it was a fabric choice for the ages.
I was young.
And I thought I knew everything about everything.
Especially which fabrics were meant for couches.
In the bleary-eyed haze of couch fabric choosing frenzy, however….
….I overlooked one minor detail.
When you look at the fabric swatch on a nine-inch by nine-inch square and it looks yellow and bright and cheerful and full of life and color and vibrant joy and the square is so small that you can’t really even see all the flowers that make up the pattern, but that appears to be an irrelevant fact to you because the flowers you can see are perfect, it’s easy to understand.
How a person can underestimate the impact of an entire couch covered in the fabric.
When they delivered the couch off the truck, I gulped.
And gulped some more.
And looked at the room I had already painted red to match the red of the flower in the center of the pattern and sighed inwardly.
I made it work.
Or at least that’s what I would tell people.
Never let them see you decorator sweat.
Go big or go home.
I took my yellow patterned couch and my red walls and added a salmon-colored rug and blue accents and pronounced it the year of color.
My friends and neighbors and random people I met at Bunco would stop by for sweet tea and sit in my living room and they always said the same thing.
Over and over.
That is some couch.
Eventually I moved houses and my red walls faded away.
And the couch went to my mother’s house.
And the blue and white accents went to visit friends and relatives.
Until this week.
Blame it all on my roots.
When I went to refresh the porch and get it ready for summer and I yearned for blue and white.
I love it and it made me smile and feel like I could still rock a pair of door knocker earrings.
Maybe I’ll ask my mother for the couch back.