Evidently, the couch objects to my plans to replace it.
In fact, my couch wants me dead.
After thinking long and hard about replacing Ol’ Paint, I finally decided not to decide right now. There seem to be other pressing issues, such as buying groceries and working on my last few law cases.
But recently I realized that my couch is trying to kill me. It is one of those couches with double recliners. When I sit to watch TV, the thing lulls me to sleep.
My brother, retired three years ago, warned me that I need to do more than sit on the couch and watch TV. “That’ll kill you,” he said.
My couch kill me? Ol’ Paint? My faithful companion?
Well, yes.
Since I retired, I’ve noticed that I am slower, weaker than I used to be, even a few months ago. I barely seem to be able to get up to get a drink of water. Might miss some special item on Pawn Stars.
It wasn’t till a few days ago–right after posting the blog about replacing the couch–that I realized that the couch’s gentle embrace is one of a boa constrictor. Slowly, slowly, it will choke the life out of me. Right in the middle of Sabrina the Teenaged Witch. Then I’ll never know what happened to the gang as they fought this weeks’ supernatural horror.
I tell myself every day that I have to get up and move around. Go to the mall and join the mallwalkers. Go to the store for more milk. Something.
No, my couch holds on to me, whispers in my ear “wouldn’t a nap feel good about now?”
And I doze off.
Someone please help me. Come to my house and break down the door, pull me off of this big comfortable thing that is choking the life out of me.
In the meantime, it’s time for a nap.
Mark Bruce, Writer 