Gurl on Girl-Gaming: Memory Lane Monday: The Saga of the Couch That Refused to Leave Part 1

Boyfriend and I will have been living together for 4 years this April. It's been a long and exhausting adventure, but a fun one, too. When we decided to live together, we were both living in separate apartments in the same Queens neighborhood and I was desperate to leave my studio (though I can't for a second imagine why) and Boyfriend's roommate situation was on a downward spiral so we decided to go for it. While we both enjoyed our neighborhood in Astoria, we had both gotten jobs at the same restaurant in Brooklyn, so we decided to switch Burroughs to cut down on the commute time. Boyfriend found a delightful little 2nd floor apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn that was a 20-30 minute commute to work (vs our 60-90 minute commute from Queens.) The apartment was a 5 minute walk from the subway and a 10-ish minute walk to Prospect Park, we also had a back deck and a dishwasher. There was just enough room for us, all of our stuff, and my ferret, Dusty, and all of his stuff. It was going to be great.

Then came moving day. We had a plethora of friends willing to help us in shifts to move both of our apartments. We started with Boyfriend's apartment because we had volunteer friends plus his roommates to assist, which was good because he had most of the heavy furniture, including the Big Purple Couch. Boyfriend acquired Big Purple Couch from Craigslist about 2 years before we met. It was a good couch. A comfy couch. A loyal couch.

Perhaps too loyal.

Anyone who has ever moved themselves or helped a friend move, hopefully knows that when loading a moving truck, to put the large furniture in first and the smaller furniture or boxes in last. Being smart and experienced packers/movers we put in Boyfriend's mattress, box spring, and bed frame in the truck first. Logically, next we would load up the couch. Big Purple Couch had lived in 2 different apartments with Boyfriend, and now we were moving it to a third. Apparently Big Purple Couch was upset about this. When Boyfriend and his soon-to-be-former roommates tried to finagle Big Purple Couch down the stairs to the street to load it in the truck, they couldn't get the couch down the stairs. It was as if the stairs/hallway had narrowed or the couch had grown of their own accord. They tried for almost an hour to get the couch out. They couldn't understand it. They had all gotten Big Purple Couch inside the apartment, why was it not leaving?

Clearly, Big Purple couch had grown very attached to this apartment and was unhappy about departing. I can't blame it, it wasn't a bad place, aside from the crazy neighbors downstairs who blared their stereo so loudly that it shook the building every Saturday morning at 7am. If Boyfriend and I had the means, we would have just lived there. But, I digress...

Suddenly someone had the brilliant(?) idea to try to take the couch out side on the balcony and gently(?) lower it down to someone to "catch" it on the sidewalk, then the guys upstairs would sprint down to help lower it to the ground and load it in the truck. They all shared that look they give each other when they are about to do something that is equal parts suicidally insane and brilliant. So, without ropes or pulleys or equipment of any kind, proceeded to do just that. I wish I was joking. I do not have a picture of this happening, but to me watching from the street, it looked a little like this:

Boyfriend got to "catch" because he's the tallest.

Much to the relief of my already stressed-out-and-anxiety-riddled brain, this insane scheme actually worked quite beautifully. No one died. No one broke their neck. No one so much as even chipped a nail participating in this dangerous and not recommended feat of ~~idiocy~~ genius that Boyfriend and his/our friends are notorious for.

This scenario ended happily with minimal stress that moving yourself will allow. Moving is always a bitch. Moving 2 apartments in one day with dwindling help as the hours go on, is a bitch of a bitch. Add a small live animal and a stubborn self-aware piece of furniture...well, you get the idea. It was a long damn day. But, Big Purple Couch, Boyfriend, Dusty, and I all lived comfortably in our new Brooklyn apartment full of movie watching and video game playing. Big Purple Couch was even there when Dusty eventually left us to join his brother and sister. Thanks, Big Purple Couch. Thanks for being a comfy warm safe space for Boyfriend and I to hold Dusty in his final hours on Earth.
As I said, a loyal couch.

But then, a couple years later (after yet another move back to Queens) Big Purple Couch started to show its age and began to die. It came to a point where we had to discuss the inevitable need for a new couch. And Big Purple Couch was not pleased...

To Be Continued