The couch would not budge through the door. My husband, being a handy guy, disappeared and returned with a large flat-blade screwdriver. He grabbed the couch, pushed it backward, undoing the millimeter we’d gained, and popped the pins from the door hinge.
It didn’t help.
My friend scratched her head. “We got it in here.”
Rob directed me to lift and tilt. We did, close, but still no way was it going to go through the door.
We set the couch in the corner, lifted the loveseat, and tasted success. Not so difficult, just had to slide it just so and then hug the doorway before it popped through on the other side.
My friend’s husband arrived. His face twisted as he hemmed and hawed while watching us try every possible configuration. “We got it in here.”
He took my place.
Something beautiful and primitive followed. A sweaty guy ballet of grace and agility finally nailed the sweet spot. The couch moved. They stumbled into the hallway.
Two other doors had to be dismantled. More engineering feats ensued.
While the guys grunted and conquered, I got involved in packing the kitchen.
The couch was birthed a mere thirty minutes after we arrived.
Two hours later, we set off toward home.
We couldn’t leave them to pack alone when they’d given us a free couch.
Rob was in surprisingly good spirits when we left.
We were both unaware of what waited for us down the road.
