On Behalf of Our Kids, I Want to Apologize to Our Couch

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This morning, Jaime and I bought a new couch. It’s nice and I’m happy that we bought it, but we’re replacing a couch that is not even five years old. If we never had children, the couch would still look and feel incredible, and we’d be able to treat ourselves to something nice instead. But when you have kids, couches tend to age like meth-addicted professional wrestlers. Our kids have abused our sectional so badly that if it could talk like Chairy from Pee Wee’s Playhouse, the couch would have likely dialed a hotline in the middle of the night and would now be in a furniture shelter. On that note, I’d like to offer this apology to our once beautiful couch on behalf of my children:

Dearest Chocolate Colored Faux Leather Sectional,

Five years ago, you came into our living room and lives, providing comfort like we had never known. You were brown, you were beautiful and you were ours. Your beautiful, chocolate colored exterior made me think of Halle Berry every time I laid my envious Caucasian eyes on you. But then the children gradually tore you apart, like the lil’ savages they are. Your once beautiful brown texture had been broken down and exposed to an unremarkable beige base, much like former Spokane NAACP President, Rachel Dolezal.

How did we not see this coming? In hindsight, I should have spoken up every time the children ate food on you, did backflips on you or threw your pillows all over the room like starving chimps. Although they terrorized you on a daily basis, I was always careful not to desecrate your beautiful physique. Well, except that one time I was masturbating on you and accidentally got a tiny bit of ejaculate on your arm rest. In my defense, it was late, I was really into that episode of American Pickers and the pizza guy surprised be by staring through the window like friggin’ Michael Myers. God, I should have Scotchgarded you. How could I have been so stupid? It’s easier to remove the memory of a murder you’ve committed than jizz from a couch. That’s irrelevant now because the only thing that matters is that I am sorry.

You were abused, taken advantage of, jizzed on a little bit and never fully appreciated. I’m astonished at what the kids were able to do to you. The last time I saw kids inflict that kind of damage was while watching Children of the Corn. Only instead of knives, my buckwild children used Capri Sun, dirty feet and kid rage to tear you to pieces. You deserved better than that. I hope when we put you out on the curb that you are rescued by a thin, childless couple. If such a thing exists, I hope they pay a couch doctor to give you the graft you deserve and make you look as brown and as beautiful as you will always be in my eyes. I’ll never forget your beautiful “L” shape. Hopefully, you’ll never forget mine: I “L”ove you.

Love,

Mike

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