The brand new, coral sage, reclining loveseat

I hate buying furniture. I'm not good at it. It's expensive and mistakes have been made. Most of our successful purchases have been selected by my husband. Our thirty year old couch was chosen by him. I've never seen a different one that I like as well. When it's red cushions began to look matted and dirty, I unzipped their covers and peeled them from the foam and washed them in the washing machine. When that no longer perked up my beloved couch, we took it to a shop to be recovered. I had my heart set on a dark green cottony material with little fleurs de lis running through it. I had seen it on a wing back chair. The woman at the shop and my husband gently dissuaded me. It wasn't right for the style and size of our couch. A soft moss green, plushier material with larger silver and peach leaves scattered through it is much more fitting. It was my husband's idea, too, to buy our old solid oak pedestal table. It was stained very dark and looked awkward in the small kitchen of the little ranch style house we lived in at the time. But we soon left that house. My husband stripped away the dark stain and rubbed it with a concoction that he made himself. It was tobacco soaked in something. Was it turpentine? Anyhow, I wouldn't sell my table now for any price. And who found the four old wooden chairs that go so perfectly with it at an auction down the street? My husband, of course. I know recliners aren't fashionable; they are a joke, really, among the trendy. But we have become quite addicted to them. We spend so much time in our recliner that its life span only seems to be a few years. Last time we needed a new one, my husband was working long hours and sent me off to make a purchase without him. Luckily, my son, Matt, was here and he went with me. While I wandered bewildered among all the contenders, Matt found one that wasn't too big for our small living room, that was neat looking with colors that blended with our couch. It came home with us, wedged in the car in two pieces and took its place as the choice seat in the house. But for some time it has been apparent that its day has come and gone. Bear chewed on its wooden base and its foot rest back when she was a baby. A looped wire in its back came loose from something, wore a hole in the fabric and permanently poked through. It became too much a recliner; it was impossible to sit upright in it. My husband has been talking for several years about getting a loveseat recliner. This pleased me no end. I chose to think that he was having a romantic notion. [At his age!] It may be more true that his conscience has been bothering him. Who do you think has first dibs on both the recliner and the remote? As an insomniac, my turn at the recliner has come mostly in the wee hours of the morning when Sadie and I look out the window and listen to the radio. But that has caused another little problem. When my husband arises at five a.m. all ready to recline and watch Imus in the Morning, there I am , having dozed off in his seat of choice. Our living room is too small for the couch and two recliners. Would it be big enough for the couch and a love seat? We weren't sure. We dithered and procrastinated and grew accustomed to reclining at full tilt. A Christmas visit from sons Matthew and Peter got us going. With them and their brother Marty in tow, we visited two furniture stores in International Falls. Nothing there moved us. It was in our neighboring town of Baudette that my husband found it--a soft, plain sage green one. When I mentioned that our couch was moss green, the lady there tried to steer us to a coffee and cream, brown version. But we liked the green one. I worried all the way home that it would be too big, that the two greens would clash. I was so relieved when it was delivered and I saw that it fit in its allotted space. The colors blended, to our eyes at least. Before we left the store, the lady had urged us to "sit in it," "try sitting in it." We did--for a few seconds. I was too busy judging a book by its cover. The first night that we had it, we felt like two little soldiers sitting up so straight on such a high stiff thing. It wasn't anything like our old friend that had been sadly hauled away by the delivery truck. My husband began sitting more on the couch. When I questioned him about it, he said, "You know how I am about new things. My pants might be dirty." Or he was drinking his coffee or having a cookie. Finally he asked me if I thought we had made a mistake. But I think the story is going to have a happy ending. After all, maybe a lady and a gentleman are meant to sit nicely in their parlor, not sprawled out as if someone had just belted them one. Bear has been told so sternly that the new love seat is not for her that she hasn't tried it, but Sadie, who's a good judge of comfort, sneaks up there whenever she thinks we won't notice. Yesterday we sat together and watched the Panthers beat the Bears and held hands a little. This morning at 3 a.m., I heated up my three flannel bags of rice in the microwave, tucked one against each hip and one behind my head and reclined a little. While the BBC was getting me up to speed on financial conditions in Africa, I dozed off and didn't wake up for two and a half hours. When it was time for Imus, my husband came and reclined beside me without even waking me. And the two apple green cashmere throws that we got for Christmas look just great draped across the back of the new, coral sage, reclining loveseat.