…couches. So when Chris and I got married in 2008, we were young, and we didn’t know that most poor 22-year-olds bought couches from Ikea and Super Amart. So we went to Harvey Norman and picked out the most beautiful, squishy, cozy, mocha-coloured suede couches (incidentally, we also took out our very first 50-months-interest-free Mastercard that day!). Those couches saw us through many happy, ridiculously comfy years of TV watching, pizza nights, dog snuggles and midnight feeds when Jackson was a tiny newborn. Almost all of our newlywed furniture items were free hand-me-downs, from the BBQ that had been left in a colleague’s back yard when he bought his house, to a coffee table and ottoman that had been purchased from Ikea in the 70s, to an almost-new washing machine that my uncle’s mother had acquired not long before she passed. But when we sat on our beautiful couches, we were kings. We loved those couches.
But eight years on, the years were beginning to show. The 3-seater had a big dip in the middle, and launching our unfit bodies out of it was becoming… strenuous. There were little rips under the cushions. And despite our diligence in having them professionally cleaned every six months, the dogs countered our efforts with copious amounts of slobber, vomit and pee. Add an active, messy toddler to the mix and we made a sad realisation:
We are not Harvey Norman couch people any more.
No, we’re cheap wipe-able couch people now.
So the point of this story is to tell you that a few weeks ago, Chris and I replaced our beloved, well-worn Harvey Norman couches with the cheapest wipe-able vinyl couches we could find at Fantastic Furniture. They’re sturdy, and I now have the peace of mind that cleanliness is just one spray-and-wipe away! Plus, as it turns out, they actually look better in our living room. Go figure.
Want to hear a creepy story? Of course you do. So our street isn’t what you would call “100% safe”. I mean, eighty percent of the time, it’s quiet, there’s a bunch of kids in the park across the road, and it’s all G. But also, it’s not uncommon for neighbours to get in physical fights with each other. Or for teenagers to swarm for raging house parties. Or for toddlers to escape and wander the park while their parents sit at home listening to heavy metal.
One night, a while ago now, we heard the tell-tale signs of a midnight brawl outside. There was a woman screaming, men shouting, glass breaking on the road. We called the police, as we always do. And we sat and waited.
Chris stood by our bedroom window, taking peeps to see what was happening outside, and he realised there was a man standing in our front yard holding a shovel. And as he watched, this guy opened our letterbox and looked around inside it. Then he just went back to standing there with his shovel, mere feet from our bedroom window.
THAT GAVE ME THE HEEBY JEEBIES. Like I had so many questions. Why our front yard? Why the shovel? Why look in our letterbox? What was he planning!?!? Luckily the police showed up and the action died down. Shovel man melted into the night and we didn’t see him again. No, I was not able to get back to sleep!
But on that note, let’s change gears and look at some links, eh?
I loooooveeee this collage gallery featuring three different artists (including Holly Chastain, who I have loved foreverrr). There’s just something about collages that I adore, every time!
When Wonder Woman Took Off Her Cape – I just sank deep into these words when I read them today. I feel ya, Amanda.
It might be the middle of Winter but I would never say no to this no-churn caramel brownie icecream. Because caramel. And brownies. And icecream.
A month since launching She the Fierce, I am floored and inspired by all the pieces. But this reminder to labour on and appreciate the season of waiting just gets me every time.
Last night I made this creamy butternut, bacon and leek papardelle and it was DIVINE. And surprisingly quick to cook. Like, I started cooking it way too early and ended up having to stop for half an hour just to tee up properly with dinner time. THAT NEVER HAPPENS.
Happy Sunday, love-cakes!