Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

Because sometimes a status update just isn't enough.

04 May 2011

HAH! It WASN'T my fat ass AFTER ALL!

For the last couple of weeks (coincidentally since we moved cross country and dragged our shit 3000 in a U-Haul over the river, through the woods, across the Rockies, zig-zagging, slipping and sliding through blizzards, blah blah blah) every time I've sat on the couch, Dan has commented that it SAGS the second my butt hits the cushion (which I really, REALLY appreciate.  Thank you, honey, for your vigilance in pointing this out).  I have said things like, "Do you think it got broken when we moved?" and was assured that no, absolutely not, that couldn't have happened because, you see, DAN LOADED THE COUCH HIMSELF.
Therefore, it simply has to be sagging due to the mere act of me sitting on it.
Happy news for someone who is chronically concerned about the size of their ass.
Oh, and FYI?  His pile-driving ass is also on this couch at the same time he's commenting how it sags when *I* sit down.  But I digress.

Last night, after we had been cuddling together watching something inane on tv, Dan decided to get up and go watch the Mets game in the bedroom.  As he was looming over me, leaning down to give me a kiss, he suddenly stepped back with a look of huge concern on his face.

Me:  What's wrong?

Dan:  *look of extreme concern*

Me:  What's wrong?

Dan:  *look of extreme concern*

(I'm pretty sure this is where I was supposed to read his mind.)

Me:  What are you looking at?  What's wrong?

Dan:  *look of extreme concern*


Dan:  *ominously*  Dani, get up.

Me:  *getting up*  What's wrong?

Dan:  *point*

Rather than going with my first reaction, which is to maim and kill out of extreme irritation, I sucked it up and looked at where he was pointing.  The entire middle of our couch was in a perfect vee, with the bottom touching the carpet.
Since this couch is less than 4 months old, this is indeed cause for concern.

Dan:  What the fuck?

Me:  *wisely saying nothing*  (I know, I shocked me, too.)

We flipped the couch over, Dan ripped off the cloth cover on the bottom and suh-prise, suh-prise, there was a CRACK that had split and collapsed along the entire under carriage of the couch.

My fat ass, indeed.

(Okay, he never said "fat ass."  But I'm a woman and when you accuse me of breaking something by sitting on it, the fat-ass part is implied, whether you intend it to be or not.  Word.)

Me:  *casually*  Sooooo... what do you think happened?

Dan:  *struggling to come up with an answer that didn't involve him packing the couch and us dragging it across the country*  Cheaply made piece of shit.

Me:  Riiiight,  So, are you still sticking to the theory that the couch couldn't withstand the weight of my enormous rear-end?

Dan:  *looking shocked*  I never said that!

Me:  It was implied.

Dan:  I never implied that!

Me:  So why is the couch broken, Dan?



Dan:  It probably had a crack in it that we didn't notice and the move was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Me:  How about last week when you, your mom, and your dad and your nephew were all sitting on this couch eating spaghetti?  That was like 800 lbs of Geer-ass on this couch.  Think that might have helped break the camel's back?

Yeah... sometimes I have a hard time letting things go.  It was a hollow victory, I still have a broken couch, but dammit... it had nothing to do with the size of my ass.


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