Scribbles and Scrambles - Bouncing Couch Adventure - Part 2

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.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Bouncing Couch Adventure - Conclusion

Seven miles from home, an accident had funneled the interstate traffic into a twenty minute a mile crawl. Finally, after we crept past the fire and tow trucks we hit clear interstate.

Rob prepared to enter warp speed.

And then the unthinkable happened.

I saw it peripherally from the mirror on the visor. Peripherally, because I’d turned to stare at Rob when he groaned. The green leather couch, airborne, headed toward a maroon van. We watched in hind-sight horror as Rob pulled onto the shoulder. The van stopped in time, and the loveseat wedged against the bridge railing.

We couldn’t leave it -- visions of late night traveling child-laden vehicles careening into the couch tormented me. Rob threw the truck into reverse and wobbled toward the wayward furniture on the nearly non-existent shoulder. I glanced into my side mirror and spied a light pole rapidly approaching.

My husband hates it when I gasp or scream when he’s driving. (Okay, so I get nervous sometimes.)

I whimpered and yelled, “Pole!” It sounded something like this. “Pole! Screech, crumple. Pole!” Need I tell you that he kissed the pole and flattened his fender on his almost new white pick up?
Not only does my husband have an excellent sense of humor, he also possesses great self-control. A tiny trickle of negative words were expelled in his sigh. He straightened up the truck and backed as far as he could.

Cliches best describe the atmosphere in the cab -- deafening silence and tension that could be cut with a knife.

He parked, waited for barreling semi’s to pass and jumped out of the truck. I followed, urging caution. The traffic flew. My hair whipped around my face, slapping me, and tiny sand shrapnel pelted me. At one point a semi kissed the shoulder as it barreled past and the resulting vacuum made certain that I’ll never need a face lift. (I don’t recommend this, though.)

I made suggestions. He answered them with muttered comments through a locked jaw and took off to push the couch out of the path of the traffic. I am smart enough to know that sashaying onto the interstate to help him would be a very bad idea. So I crawled back into the truck and prayed.

After back-tracking to the previous exit and four-wheeling into the ditch beside the interstate, we arrived home with our hard won couches.

And after a few short hours my husband spoke to me again.

Ahhhh, the joys of marriage, and free furniture.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Bouncing Couch Adventure

My husband deserves some sort of medal. Not only has kept me for almost twenty-five years, he’s also managed to keep his sense of humor.

Well, most of the time anyway.

I think he’s currently searching for it after yesterday, but I’m confident that he’ll find it.

Some women bring home stray children -- others stray animals. I’ve done both. In addition, I have perfected the art of procuring stray furniture. Furniture that doesn’t have anyone who really wants it pulls at my heart strings.

In my defense, I’m collecting only because we need to furnish a couple more rooms in the remodeling of our home.

Last winter in the snow and ice, hubby and I scored a load of great wood storage pieces. I need storage, I crave it. And I have a wall all picked out for this huge conglomeration of wooden hidey-holes. My husband, a carpenter, has a soft spot for fine furniture, so we left smiling. Of course, he smiled less as we puzzled-pieced the furniture into the shed, but I’m confident he will love the look when it’s all installed in the proper room.

The rooms needing furnished are in the painting stage, so my quest has intensified. A co-worker, the poor girl who is building, see previous post http://kellyklepfer.blogspot.com/2006/06/scribbles-and-scrambles-i-packed-food.html, offered me a leather couch -- free for the hauling.

If there is anything I love more than storage furniture, it would be free furniture.

Free is a relative term, I’ve noticed.

We set out to bag our couch yesterday, one of the warmest days of summer. “Kind of a nice contrast to the last furniture run in the bitterness of winter,” I suggested to my husband. He offered a tight smile. Not a good sign.

Interestingly, there were two couches, in great shape. So I rubbed my hands together and clamped down on the vocal glee. My husband shot me the look. I hunkered down on my end of the big soft couch and we headed for the door…I pushed, he pulled. Nothing happened.

That’s when it got fun. To be continued…..