It wasn’t until dragging our furniture onto the patio during our spring cleaning that I realized our couches looked like they were purchased from a crackhouse garage sale. After years of having the dogs rub themselves along the front, and motionless teenagers planted on the cushions for hours at a time, they were dirty, lumpy and misshapen.
And so were our couches.
After a discussion about the merits of keeping our old set and the cost of replacing them with a new one, my wife and I decided to go ahead and get rid of our old sofa and love seat.
Total elapsed time of this conversation: 11 seconds.
That includes the eight seconds we spent covering the couches with a tarp so no one else would see them. Naturally, before going to the furniture store, I needed to measure the wall and floor space in the livingroom to ensure we wouldn’t order the wrong size couches and end up having a conversation like this:
Me: Honey, would you like me to grab you a soda from the fridge?
My wife: Only if you’re going that way.
Me: It’s no trouble. The other end of the couch is in the kitchen anyway.
Admittedly, I am not a numbers person. While some people are able to solve complex mathematical equations dealing with numerical sequences and the square root of a hypotenuse triangle, others, like myself, still haven’t figured out the correct way to read a tape measure:
Hmmm, looks like exactly seven feet, eight inches — plus about three little lines…
As you can imagine, me determining square footage was like calculating a trajectory for orbiting the planet Mars. So I turned to the Internet for help. It was there that I found an actual grade school math activity called “Henry Carpets the Classroom,” which teaches seventh graders how to calculate square footage. It was thanks to this website that I was able to determine the correct measurements by hiring a seventh grader to do it for me.
I am not ashamed of this.
I know full well my wife will find out when she balances our account at the end of the month and finds a check written to “Billy Schlependorf, Jr.” with the memo: Carpet consultant.
But hey, as man of the house I have nothing to hide!
Well… except for those ugly couches.