Back in our salad days Deb and I bought a love seat. Its price was greatly reduced because a naughty salesman had sold the matching couch as a separate item and because there was a going out of business blowout sale. Nevertheless it wasn’t worth much more than its greatly reduced sale price.
That was fifteen years ago, at the least, and it has been worn out for many years already. I’ve done some rudimentary repairs on the framework and springs, but it’s just not a very nice love seat.
I mentioned to Deb that I should just go buy a new one, even another one at a greatly reduced price, if only because this one would like to finally rest in peace. “No,” she said. “I appreciate the thought, but I’ll just cry.”
It’s true: whether the thing matches the living room appointments or not, whether it seats all comers with comfort, whether the thing is an exact replica of our present love seat, she’ll cry. I don’t know that it’s a bad thing to capitulate to the tears. After all, it is a beloved love seat. More than that, there are so many other things to take care of, so many other things which will bring tears.
Perhaps one day we’ll grow enough to earn a new love seat.