We saw the Psycho Couch at an antique shop early last summer. I really wanted it right away. I felt an instant connection to the piece, but it remained on the periphery of my consciousness for a long time. It seemed luxurious beyond my spartan sense of home decor. The sole occupant of my living room for most of the time I have lived in this apartment was a weight bench. No television, no soft place to sit, only the weight bench and an old bar I used to stand up while I draw write, or organize my paperwork. I even write a poem about it and Jenny did an illustration to accompany the poem.
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| You'll have to click the drawing to enlarge it to read the poem, but this actual size for one of Jenny's Tiny Drawings. This afternoon we dropped the kids off at their grandparents and went to make the final payment on the Psycho Couch. It was now up to us to lug this monster up the precarious flight of stairs that lead to my apartment. Fortunately, the eccentric Dutchman who owns the antique shop agreed to put the couch in his van and drive it to the apartment, but steadfastly refused to help schlep it up the stairs. Instead, he referred to Jenny as "strong like bull." It was a comment many women would have taken offense to, but to Jenny it was taken as a compliment. And is true. We humped it up the stairs with less difficulty than we had imagined, and with a couple of enthusiastic pushes coaxed it into the apartment.  Just try to imagine me on this couch this football season trying to relax while some ding-dong wide receiver ruins my life. Tonight I watched the New York football Giants play the Dallas Cowboys in an American football match. The first of the NFL season. Ahmad Bradshaw scored a touchdown just for me and a lot of other players didn't do much of anything I cared about. Life is good. |
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