What I’ll miss: Becky’s couch
I was there when Becky bought it. We threw a party in honor of it. Many guests have slept on it. It’s where I’m most comfortable playing Wii. Whenever I sleep over, this is where I sleep most of the time. It knows me. It appreciates me. I’ve never drooled on it. I’ve personally never made out on this couch, but I’m sure lots of making out has happened on it. Quite sure. We’ve prayed on it. We’ve eaten on it. I was there when we took the broken legs off and made it a low-ride, ghetto couch. It’s very comfortable, and it’s almost like a black hole, where the actual sitting position is the event horizon, and it’s virtually impossible to get off. We’ve read excerpts from books and emails and taken French lessons on it. We’ve had band practice on it. No other couch in the whole universe has the same history as Becky’s couch. I’ll miss who I got to sit with for hours on end. And eat with. And play Wii with. And read with. And listen to music with. And cry with. And tackle. And hug. I love that couch and everything it represents.
What I won’t miss: Becky’s rollaway bed
I only slept on it once, and it folded around me like a taco. It stands for stupidity and irresponsibility, and I wish, for everyone’s sake, for it to go away forever. Even into a real black hole.