Big dumb sofa

I am mad at my couch.

I am mad at my couch because we bought it five years ago -- FIVE, not FIFTY -- when our tax refund check came in. It replaced the old Flexsteel sofa we inherited thirdhand from my grandpa, who then passed it on to my brother, who then passed it to us. The Flexsteel sofa, which was just a regular ol' three cushion model with two rolling ottomans, wasn't noticeably worn, it was just dated; an late-80s fabric, not of the pouffy, overstuffed look of more recent furniture (although that particular style also seems to be gone.)

The replacement sofa was a Broyhill, one with two reclining side and flip-up footstools that you deploy by pushing a button beneath the armrest on the side. It was a nice navy blue and Dijon yellow plaid with touches of dark green and mulberry. Very attractive, I thought.

The problem is that the center support bar completely collapsed last year so that when you sit in the middle, your rear end sinks down very low, causing you to struggle like a cartoon character in order to regain your footing. Then the stuffing on the back cushion on the left-hand side went all wonky. It kind of came...unstuffed. But the crowning indignity -- if indignity is something that can receive a crown, which seems rather dignified, now that I think about it, but anyway -- there is a vertical tear in the fabric of the seat cushion on the right hand side. A tear! And not on a seam, either. The fabric has plotzed, which is a useful Yiddish word that means "just went to pieces, totally and without recourse." More or less.

If I mentioned the price of this sofa to you, you might have to sit down to catch your breath. But whatever you do, don't sit on MY EXPENSIVE BROYHILL PIECE OF POO SOFA, because it might just collapse onto the floor and bury you in a pile of flimsy infrastructure, unstuffed stuffing and torn fabric.