I don’t know why people think you’re so terrible. I’m not sure why you’re my guilty pleasure. When I combine you with a Law & Order marathon, it’s pure magic. Being outside for a run doesn’t make me dislike you, sofa, it makes me love that much more. It’s like how they say in relationships absence makes the heart grow fonder and there’s usually nothing I miss more when I don’t have it than my couch.
Our love is a forbidden kind of affair. I have to pretend I’d rather be out, meeting new people, going to restaurants when we all know you and take out are where I’d rather spend all my time. It’s about as cool to love your couch as it is to love your mother. Chic people don’t love their couch. Active people abhor their couch as the antithesis of fitness.
We’ve been through so much together, you and I. Every episode of Law & Order, when Chloe left Dance Moms, all those times we were sure Sam and/or Dean couldn’t possibly come back from the dead, New Year’s Eve Twilight Zone marathons with Chinese food. Remember when we spent the evening together watching Murder, She Wrote and I thought I’d never move again after my first 20 miler? How we would look at the Christmas tree? When we were in Minneapolis and I used to sit on you and sob uncontrollably that my life was a mess and I’d made so many bad choices? Or how I was sitting on you when I did the phone interview for my jobs? I’d give up every chair for you, couch, aside from cable television you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I got you, babe, and together we can accomplish practically nothing.