Uncovering a Multitude of Sins

I hate this couch. I selected it when I was young and easily influenced. I hate to admit that we actually purchased it. I would like to tell people that I got this set (yes! it's a set - the loveseat graces my living room) from my grandma when she moved into a nursing home. Not the case. My grandma is not in a nursing home and her sense of decor puts mine to shame. I have to take responsibility for the choice of this hulking, ugly mass of blue chenille.

This week, I tried to hide it with a slipcover. I know I promised my blogfans a detailed story of my slipcovering adventures. As it turns out the story is rather short. Slipcover arrived. I did my best. But, like the beating of the telltale heart, the couch refused to be hid.

Most slipcovers are made for sofas. I need one for an upholstered continent. I wish I would have taken a picture of my handy work, but I didn't. A mental image will have to do: Picture an obese woman wearing a tube top. Picture this tube top being visible only where it covers the most essential part of her upper torso. The rest of the tube top is swallowed up in rolls of fat - front fat, back fat, side fat, every variety of fat the human body can offer. Picture the thin slit of tube top visible from the rear, overlapped by flaps of back breasts. It's not the fault of the tube top. It's giving all it can. And so it was with the slipcover.

In the end I decided to spruce up the blue monster with a couple new throw pillows. I think they make quite a difference. In any event, it looks like I am stuck with this mountain of foam and fabric until I go back to work. So be looking forward to pictures of the most stunning sofa this world has ever seen in t-minus 2 years. And in the meantime, mine is one house where you don't need to feel guilty about farting in the couch cushions. Nothing can harm this beast.