The Ugliest Sofa Ever

For the last two months I've been obsessing over buying a sofa. When I moved into my new digs I decided that I needed one, since there's a lot more space here. And I seem to be having more out of town visitors here than in my old place, so it needed to be a sleeper sofa – you know, the kind that folds out into a nifty bed. A staple in New York apartments.

I figured out my budget and decided I could pay up to $100 for a decent sofa, and was even willing to pay as much as $150 if the perfect one came along. I looked around in a few furniture boutiques in Manhattan, and it didn't take too long to figure out that a'hunnerd bucks would buy me a couple of limp pillows and no more. So I bit the bullet, kicked in some more cash, and commenced my search for the perfect sofa.

Now, I hate shopping. I really do. It's such an abysmal waste of time. I mean, in the time that it takes me to run around Manhattan and slog through furniture stores, I could be getting my nails done, or ears waxed, or something equally deep and riveting. So I aborted my search, went online, and finally found the most sublime sofa that I could afford. I ordered the premium full-size sleeper in a rich, velvet maroon, and eagerly awaited its arrival.

It arrived today. While I burnt sage and chanted a few Tantric prayers of thanksgiving, the movers hauled it upstairs and set it down in the perfect spot. I then performed a sacred dance to Lakshmi, the goddess of abundance (this is my first sofa, after all!) while the good men cut the plastic off, and lo! there in front of me was my brand new sleeper sofa, looking up at me apologetically, as if to say, "I'm so sorry...." Yup, I'm here to tell you that it was and is the ugliest friggin' sofa you ever saw. It bends the mind how ugly it is. Every time I look at it I think of a Sears showroom. It crossed my mind to stack a couple of radial tires on either side as end tables, just to complete the cheese effect. Thankfully I didn't go for the queen size...omg...at least mine is small enough that it only takes up half the room.

My dear grandmother had a sleeper sofa that was lime green and made of bricks, on which I awoke in the morning stiff as a cadaver. I attribute a sizeable portion of my neuroses to the nights spent on that criminal piece of furniture. Well, guess what. This is cruelly reminiscent of grammy's couch, minus the crocheted pink afghan slung over the back. The only crumb of good news is that my guests won't be staying very long. I think two nights ought to do the trick, then they'll find some flimsy excuse to stay in a hostel.

My dear friend Victoria advised me not to make such a big purchase without seeing it first. She highly recommended that I sit on a sofa before buying it, to really be sure that it works for me. I didn't listen. I went with my gut, which told me that it was a totally bitchin' couch, and I didn't need to sit on it, and after all, how bad could it be?? She's such a good friend that when I called to tell her it was uglier than the backside of a schnauzer, she didn't say "I told you so." Which goes to show what a saint she is. I don't think I could've resisted.

Well, there's no way I'm going to send it back, because I ordered it from...sigh...Seattle. Yup, that's right. They didn't have what I wanted in Anchorage, so I had to settle for the farthest distance away within the lower 48. Crap. It's mine. So here's my solution: I'm going to smother it with a couple of throws made of nice fabric. I'll toss a throw up one side and down the other, add a few sexy pillows, and then the only thing it will be is uncomfortable. I can deal with that. After all, I won't be sitting on it – it's for my guests.

Okay, so now you know. Learn a lesson from The Madge and for heaven's sake, don't order a sofa without sitting on it first. And buy it within a 10-mile radius, so you can return it without hiring a caravan of she-camels to hump it back across the Great Plains. And listen to your friends when they give you sage advice about matters you know nothing about. And if you do make a similar mistake as mine, please be sure to let me know so I can say I told you so.

Above: That's not my sofa. My sofa may be ugly, but at least it's not plaid.