MODERN DAD | By Jon Show

May 9. Eighteen years ago, when we sold our condo and bought our first house, we also sold our couch to the buyers, so we had to buy a new couch immediately.

We weren’t exactly flush with cash but we made enough off the sale of the condo to buy our first flat screen TV and a nice, leather couch. We visited at least five stores before deciding upon the right one.

I loved that couch. Perfect napping couch with sloped arm rests. The cushions were attached so you never had to fluff them up or move them back into position. Spill something? It wiped right off.

Years later when we moved to our current home we needed a much bigger couch, so my favorite couch was relegated to a bonus room that, to my knowledge, no one has ever sat in but me, because that’s where my favorite couch was located.

I often took my morning coffee there by the window, reading the news of the day and answering emails until it was time to become productive.

Well last month the Mother of Dragons and Future Man went to visit her brother, the Guy with the Weird Dog, and came home convinced that we needed to buy a new couch from a place called Lovesac.

After 20 years of marriage I no longer take part in any sort of decision making when it comes to furnishing our house, so I shrugged and paid little attention when provided updates on the couch shopping process.

When I was told we were buying the deep seated “Sactional,” the only thing I did was drive down to the Lovesac store to test out the regular seat and the deep seat because I’m not tall and I wanted to make sure my feet didn’t dangle off of it like a child.

A week later, after maybe hearing a comment or two about a shipment, I was told the couch would be arriving between 10 am and 2 pm, so I blocked off my calendar because it was pouring rain and I didn’t want the couch to get wet.

FedEx arrived two hours late and began unloading boxes. So. Many. Boxes. By my count it was 17 total boxes, which seemed like 16 too many for a couch.

Hardly noticeable drool

The Mother of Dragons, who should not be involved with the transport or construction of furniture, arrived moments before the couch was delivered, fresh off receiving a temporary crown, sporting a speech impediment and a slight drool.

Then the fun began.

Apparently Lovesac doesn’t deliver a full couch or offer a service to put your couch together, so I got to pull 17 pieces of couch out of individually wrapped boxes and plastic wrap that left behind a pile of garbage the size of an F150.

The arms and backs of the couch were not attached to the seat of the couch – so each had to be dragged upstairs.

One by one I put a piece of couch on top of my shoulder and trudged up the stairs because no one wants to move furniture with their spouse after 20 years of marriage.

Sidebar: I have questions, Lovesac.

Why doesn’t your couch come put together?

What Mensa engineer with no actual life experience created your packing and instruction steps?

Does LoveSac own a box company? Is the EPA aware it takes three 40-foot-tall oak trees to make all the cardboard to ship a Lovesac?

Who came up with the name Lovesac? Eww.

But I digress

Back to the couch.

I possess an absurd amount of patience when it comes to putting things together. I read instructions. I watch videos. I take my time.

Within an hour I had methodically put together all the slip covers on the bases, seat cushions and back pillows.

My wife puts furniture together like a ten-year-old who took a double dose of Adderall and needs to meet his friends at the park in ten minutes.

She chose to do the arm rests and backs and had to take at least three breaks to replace the band-aids on her knuckles, which were bleeding because she was crookedly jamming the covers around the frames and kept having to redo them.

She alternated between encouraging herself and swearing. She laid down at one point and exclaimed how lucky she was that she wasn’t a hand model given the state of her knuckles.

Midway through construction she texted a bunch of expletives and a picture of her skinned hands to the Guy with the Weird Dog, who had told her it was super easy to put together a Lovesac.

The Blonde Bomber showed up at one point and pitched in on a couple of the back cushions, and then hung around to watch the theater.

“This is why dad said he wanted to do it alone,” she loudly blurted, immediately after my wife’s hand model statement.

“What,” said my wife? “I don’t want to do it alone! I want everyone to help!” Her hearing isn’t so great. The Blonde Bomber smirked.

Future Man came home from practice and grunted something on his way to his room, emerging some time later to help finish the task when it was 98 percent complete.

With the heavy lifting done I descended to the kitchen to work on dinner while listening to a steady stream of profanity, thuds and exasperated breaths as the rest of my family slid the sectional pieces into place.

As they positioned the final piece my wife yelled to no one in particular, “Oh $&!* I have to get on a call with Singapore at 8! What time is it?” It was 7:50 pm.

Moments later she galloped downstairs with freshly fluffed hair and ran into her office for her Zoom call.

I was wrapping up dinner so Future Man drove the Blonde Bomber to practice.

We had lost track of time so I began texting her coach to tell him she was going to be late because she was helping us put a Lovesac together. I rethought the text and replaced the word Lovesac with furniture.

I walked upstairs and looked at the fully constructed couch. Nice couch.

Would have been a better couch if we didn’t have to put it together. Would have been a better couch if it had sloped arm rests like my old couch.

It’s been up there for three days now.

No one has sat on the couch except for me.

Jon Show lives in Robbins Park with his wife, who he calls “The Mother of Dragons.” Their 16-year-old son is “Future Man” and their 11-year-old daughter is “The Blonde Bomber.” Their dog is actually named Lightning.