Sunday, November 04, 2007

Sofa so bleeding marvellous

Now this is a perfectly acceptable piece of furniture. Whether you like the colour or not, it is inoffensive. It's not the kind of sofa that is going to jump out at you and vomit on your shoes. It's not the kind of sofa that sits in a corner, farting loudly and shouting racist remarks at the television. It's not obscenely loud, it's not excessively large. It doesn't dominate the room saying 'I am sofa, hear me roar' and interrupting you when you're trying to describe how to set the video through elaborate metaphor and semaphore in order to tell you a long involved and very uninteresting tale of two goats and a rice pudding.

Yet at every turn it is spurned, rejected, despised. It goes unnoticed, unloved, ignored.

Its very slightly bigger brother is the one who gets all the attention, fought over more or less constantly. That sofa is apparently the comfiest, the best for driving and parking cars on, the best for eating crisps and shedding a million crumbs on, the best for resting open water-bottles on, the best for everything. If there's a shriek downstairs while I'm upstairs writing nonsense in my blog, the cause will be some injustice of the sofa. Either some movement caused a car to roll out of position, or there isn't enough room for two children. They are gigantic children, you see, and their personal space boundaries stretch galaxy-wide and are surrounded by electrified wire and highly tuned alarms.

The other sofa also happens to be a lighter colour.

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