I was walking around the Salvation Army store the other day. I like to look at what other people donate. You know what they say, “One person’s trash is another person’s treasure”. As I was perusing through the wallets, my eye was drawn towards something light pink. I reached in the pile and grabbed it, only to realize that this was my wallet that I donated last month! I had the strongest urge to pay the 60 cents for it because, God, it looked so cute now that it wasn’t mine any longer! But I put it down, laughed at my absurdity, and walked away.

I strolled down the aisles. I wasn’t in a hurry, I had nowhere to go, I was enjoying myself…sifting through these things that had so many stories attached to them: the wear and tear of an end table, someone lit candles in a storm or during a romantic dinner with those candlesticks, at one time another person’s loved one was smiling against an Olan Mills background in that picture frame. It was all so invigorating, like a flea market indoors! And then, I saw it…

For about two years now I have existed without living room furniture. I have written several times on here about my adventures on the living room floor and how I’ve come to know it as normal. Countless dinners of Kraft macoroni and cheese propped on pillows in my lap like makeshift TV trays, and the whole time I insisted that I wanted to save my money for the PERFECT COUCH! Well, it turns out that perfect couch never made it into my living room because the money I was saving was always needed somewhere else, like thrown into the air in a frivolous devil-may-care gesture that only the rich and famous can understand. Because let’s face it, I’m that glamorous.

I never would have imagined that two years later I would be walking down the second aisle of the Salvation Army store right next to the vintage sewing machine from 1953 and the orange and brown plaid recliner, and practically trip over the most beautiful red couch I have ever seen for only $70. Okay, so it was not the most beautiful, but it was in decent shape and it wasn’t stained too badly(except for that one brown area on the one cushion, but I could have easily just flipped that sucker right over). I totally would have bought it right there on the spot…that is if it weren’t for the fact that I live with Tony now, and he already has a couch for us to sit on. He reminds me of this when I sit on the floor and eat my dinner on his decorative pillows. This is frowned upon, even when I explain that it’s kind of tradition. You know, for the memories and stuff.

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