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Sofa, so good - By Rebecca Wicks

Sometimes I have those moments where, in spite of my ramblings and constant whinge-binges, I feel thin and pretty and fresh and alive and I stare at the sky and bask in the rays of the sun like a joyous and youthful lamb. At other times I just feel like an old fart, like when I see sixteen year old girls squeezing their perfect legs into tight denim trousers. Or dancing to tunes I recognize from the first time round, although mentioning that �it’s a cover� gets me funny looks. Or... when I get overly excited about soft furnishings. I'm not kidding. Soft furnishings have recently started to excite me in a way that such things as boys struggling to find my non-existent cleavage with their eyes used to do, and this makes me feel quite old. I blame DSF. I just notice them more. Instead of stopping to look in windows bearing stick thin models wearing miniskirts and other items I would no longer dare to even think about wearing, I now take three more steps along the store line-up to the nearest furniture store and hover there for a while instead.

I like to dream about how that chaise long would look in the living room I don't own. I like to ponder over how fabulous those cushions would look against the dining room chairs in the apartment that isn’t mine. I like to imagine the admiring comments I'd receive if my friends should see 'that glorious rug' on the floor of the hall in the house I can't afford.

The other day, my flat mate came home and asked if I'd like our friend Vivek's sofa, as he's recently bought a new, bigger, softer, curvier, sexier model and no longer has any need for his sagging floral lump of polyester. I practically had to lie down. The excitement was too much to bear. Me and ‘P’ you see, have great need for his unwanted, patterned monstrosity. The sofa that currently resides in our (rented) living room is nothing but a cheap IKEA imitation of a chair and I’m sick of it. It was great when we got it but like a child with a doll I lost interest after a while and started upgrading it in my head. It's so narrow, you see, that I can hardly fit my butt AND my thighs on it. I can't put my feet up very comfortably and it's so hard that my bum goes numb after just one episode of ‘Cash in the Attic’. Rubbish.

So YES. Yes we do want Vivek's sofa. Only now I'm getting anxious because he made the offer a week ago and we haven't got it yet. But I've made so many plans around its arrival. I've already picked out a throw and matching candles. I've already lined up the movies I'll watch as I recline, butt, thighs AND feet in its cushiony warmth. Who needs boys and shoes and clothes anymore, I'm 29. I get my thrills from soft furnishing. DSF is my time to shine, when I truly come alive after years of dormant longing and I shouldn't be ashamed, really. Should I?

Posted: 12 February 2009

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