I'll never let anything come between us, except your La-Z-Boys

The title of this entire publication comes from a real place

I realize how cliché it is to be that woman who was perfectly fine with her boyfriend’s furniture when they lived apart, only to confess after getting married and moving in together that she does not, in fact, care for the “top grain” grey leather sofa and loveseat he acquired from his local La-Z-Boy. (Every time I type out “La-Z-Boy” I have to again research how to arrange the hyphens. Why are they there? Why isn’t it just “Lazy Boy?” Why do I have so much unnecessary anger toward a furniture company just trying to live its life and sell recliners?)

When you’re not actually living with a particular piece of furniture, existing alongside it day by day, of course you can fully accept it, and even fool yourself into thinking you like it and find it comfortable. That’s because subconsciously you know you have a time limit—at the end of the weekend, you’ll go your separate ways. When that sofa now takes the prime spot in your living room though? When it becomes the foundational sitting piece for watching shows, eating ice cream, and taking afternoon naps (I require a lot of self-care), that’s when things get personal. Look, once we moved in together, I didn’t call the sofas ugly to their face but I definitely talked mad sh*t behind their (very stiff) backs.

When people get married young, they begin the accumulation of furniture as a couple. Together as a unit, they figure out what their style is and whether the old dining room table from one of their families is too haunted or too old school.

When you get married at the tail end of your 30s, you’re combining years’ worth of stuff. I don’t know why I’m calling myself out like this but when John and I moved to South Carolina from Alabama, where we had been living separately, everything from my one-bedroom apartment took up more space in the moving truck than his 3-bedroom house—but I maintain that’s because we didn’t pack up and move the stuff in his garage until a month or so later! But you get it, this girl had done some damage at HomeGoods.

The sofa I brought to the marriage was the Willow from Crate & Barrel. It was one of my first big furniture purchases in Los Angeles, and before you think I was making a Crate & Barrel type living, I bought it off Facebook from a guy who had only used it for staging purposes to sell a home, or so I was told (it was in great condition and the cushion covers were washable, and that’s all that mattered). I loved and still love that sofa. I know external things can’t make you happy but damn does that sofa enhance my happiness. The only issue now is, it’s white, so not ideal for a black dog who sheds and a toddler who lives with a constant coating of peanut “butty” on her hands.

When we first moved into our house, my sofa lived in the front room that was probably supposed to be a dining room (a proper dining table is actually something neither of us brought to the marriage) that we made into an office instead. So I technically still got to luxuriate on my sofa but more so for cringing through the pages of What to Expect When You’re Expecting every morning, not bingeing The Great British Baking Show.

My issue wasn’t necessarily that the La-Z-Boy sofa and loveseat weren’t aesthetically pleasing (they weren’t), but more that they weren’t even that comfortable. If you’re going to be an eye sore, at least be cozy, and stretching out on that sofa did nothing for me in the cozy department. Also, the leather always felt cold. I either had to be wearing long pants or put a blanket down before sitting, and the back felt too hard and upright to really sink into.

When I would mention replacing the couches, this is how the conversations might usually go:

John: “All I care about is function. The sofas are functional.”

Me: “Cool, cool, but is it fully ‘functional’ when I find it un-functional to sit on?”

Or…

John: “I got them for the dogs. They were their couches.”

Me: “Okay, but now you have a human wife and they are her couches…”

I hesitate to share photos because our home has had a glow up since these were taken but putting my vanity aside to show examples of something else I was vain about:

Exhibit A (the loveseat):

Exhibit B (our dog’s former lair):

I really had a beef with those sofas.

When our daughter started to become more mobile, I actually had practical reasons for wanting to ditch them, not just my own delusion that I am too refined for mid range furniture. When I was in the kitchen, the loveseat blocked my view of the living room so it was hard for me to keep track of her while I was washing the 786th dish of the day. Also, we’d been sharing a desk in our “office” and I was ready to have my own desk again—my Himalayan salt lamp needed more room to give proper healing vibes, obviously.

I told John for Christmas I would love it if we finally painted the living room, got rid of the grey sofas, moved my white sofa in to replace them, and got another desk—and I made sure to reiterate my main reasoning behind the request was Laney’s safety. He agreed! And I got those Lazi Boyz up on Marketplace immediately.

Then something strange happened. When the kind woman from Facebook came to haul them away, I actually had my first moment of feeling like an asshole for the whole ordeal. Maybe I was being ridiculous and unnecessarily picky—could we have used those sofas in a basement somewhere someday? (Perhaps it’s telling that my second guessing of getting rid of them came up with a hypothetical solution that involved a different home and an underground room some time in the distant future.)

Then John said he loved our new “open floor plan” and we moved my Willow in front of the TV, and I was really happy to again have my preferred cushions for numbing with endless streaming content.

I have not been completely inflexible—we kept his Laze-ee-Boi recliner, coffee table and side tables. I’ve made peace with all of them but mostly because I can humbly admit they’re better than the accents I had from my overly long “shabby chic” phase of decorating.