I had a dream, it was a fabulous dream. Of a lovely red couch. I want a red couch for my yellow living room in the worst way. I want people to walk into my house and expect me to say “Would you like fries with that?” (It should also be noted that I have a bright ass blue kitchen AND a lime green laundry room…white walls give me horrific nightmares.)

And I found one! WITH a loveseat. Now all I need is a “big chair” and an ottoman but not one that is all matchy matchy because that’s not what the Hamburgler would like in his abode. So I found my red couch and it was good and lo, it was not expensive.

I went to visit my red couch and mark my territory with a middle of the day dry hump and then I ran home so excited to tell Patrick about the promised land that I nearly piddled my pants. And he said… “Um…yeah, well, we’ll go see about it in a few days”

A. Few. Days. But BABY! I’ve already make sexual overtures to the couch. We’ve been INTIMATE. We must go now now now!!! Without delay! (Because any form of DeLay is bad bad news signifying the end of the world…but I digress)

Well, obviously I’m nowhere NEAR as in charge of this whole marriage thing as I have deluded myself into thinking.

But anyway…so we waited and we waited and I had visions of other people loving on MY couch and taking it home and I cried “Couch! How could you do this to me, we had a MOMENT before the furniture Nazi kicked me out of the store.” Fast forward to Monday evening, the day of the big pointless sale at furniture place which shall remain nameless Ashley.

I am so excited. I am skipping and jumping and happy happy joy joy. This is all happening, mind you, in four billion trillion percent humidity in the middle of rush hour traffic but still…I am happiness and light. My couch boyfriend is waiting for me right up at the front of the store. But something is different. WHAT is that foreign piece of paper of MY couch? Oh holy shit, oh no. This is SOOO not happening to me.

S-O-L-D O-U-T.

Well, I immediately grew another head and devoured the chippy saleslady whole who confirmed that yes, indeed, my lover had gone home to another and they were not going to be using cloning technology to grow me another one in a nearby lab anytime soon. I then turned my wrath towards Patrick who had used those precious few seconds to arm himself with a nearby lamp and dining room furniture set. Tricky bastard, I’ve got to keep a closer eye on that one.

So we headed back through the traffic and the humidity, Patrick was apologizing because apparently I had failed to stress that we didn’t have to wait until the big pointless sale to rescue my couch boyfriend from the orphanage.

And I SWEAR to you that asshole in the suburban assault vehicle who tried to kill me the other day passed us and MY COUCH was IN HIS FUCKING HUMMER. I can now become a comic book heroine in a kicky suit because I have acquired an arch-nemesis.