Letter From My Couch

Dear Jay,

It has been three years since you purchased me, your doublewide armchair (lovingly known as your couch), from the swap meet. I have endured many asses and I have little room to complain about yours or that of your sexy girlfriend. However, you seem to ignore that I, too, have feelings, and given that, I have a few issues I must address if we are to continue cohabitating.

I understand that you need to eat. I get it. I know you love Del Taco, and so I can respect your choice in food. However, it appears they are in short supply of napkins because you don’t ever seem to have any when you eat. Also, the thirteen steps (I counted) to the kitchen to get a paper towel must be quite the arduous journey because you refuse to get up to find something else on which to wipe your hands.

From now on, please make an effort to find some other place to wipe your hands. Use your pants, your shirt, or lick your fingers. I don’t care. I don’t like grease. It mats my fuzz and the moldy smell that starts to emanate after a couple days is nauseating! You may think we don’t have noses, but I assure you I’m quite capable of detecting scents.

Now that we’ve covered your poor wiping habits, we need to talk about your eating on me while you watch TV. As much as I love to watch these shows with you, if you choose to eat while you do it (as you so often do), I would prefer you learn to use a plate. If you cannot comply, by all that is holy I beg you to cover me in some kind of tarp.

Over the years, I have become a grand master at collecting items that drop from your pocket. I have collected quite the nest egg from the loose change alone, so that’s not the issue. No, the reason I need tarp is because of the daily bits of food (sometimes whole pieces) that fall between my cushions. Yesterday, you dropped a chicken leg. A. Chicken. Leg. It is still there. I would like you to clean it out (and all the other stuff you dropped down there) and vacuum me immediately.

Although Febreeze is a wonderful product for covering up scents, you need to realize it only works on the surface. Those nasty noxious fumes remain trapped in my cushion, and it burns my nose! I propose that in addition to your use of that fabric cologne called Febreeze, you also wash me once a month. If any of the following things happen, then you wash me immediately!

The first one is that if your girlfriend’s uncle, brother, or any of their friends sit on me, please wash me immediately upon their exit. The incessant farting often leaves me wondering if they need to see a doctor.

Second, if you sit on me when you get home from the gym, please wash me within a suitable period. If I had sweat glands all over the place and sat on your face, how would you like it?

Speaking of exercise. I admit that I do enjoy the company of nude humans. I don’t know what it is about your beautiful bodies (mostly), but I adore the feel of (clean) skin against my upholstery. However, I would like you to know that the recent solo nude “exercising” you performed while on me is unacceptable. I ask that you never do it again. The bed and computer chair seem to enjoy it much more than I do, so please relocate from now on.

I know that I ask a lot as your couch, but I prefer that we keep a cordial and accommodating relationship as long as I am a resident here. If you continue to disregard my demands, I will move out and take the toaster with me. We have a very passionate relationship; she’s pregnant with our little love bug. If you try to hide the toaster from me, I will end you.

 

Warmest Regards,

Sofa King Disgruntled

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