We also had no couch.
Let me set the scene for you: one week ago, the Goodlaff army of movers (Mr. GL and I, FIL and SMIL Goodlaff) was frantically unloading our lovely little Uhaul. After several hours, we had finally found it--the indication that we had reached the back of our moving van--the couch. As I walked back to the elevator from dropping another stack of boxes into our apartment, I peeked out one of the top floor windows to see Mr. Goodlaff and his dad (FIL) walking away from the building, couch in hand. Um. Wrong way, guys. Then I saw them set it down next to the Uhaul.
This was not good.
Apparently one of the--let's say "quirks"--with our new building is that the elevator is tiny. And the stairwell had an un-navigable corner. And there's no freight elevator. All of these things added up to us not being able to even get the chance to try to fit our couch into our current apartment.
So, no couch. No big deal, right? We'd go couch hunting on the weekend, and everyone would be happy.
We did go couch hunting, and we did find the perfect couch. It was lovely. Chaise lounge, perfect fluffiness, nice, soft micro-fiber. See?
We didn't think it would fit. So we came home, cranky. Then we found another stairwell--a stairwell with a straight shot, with no un-navigable corner. We went back to the furniture store and bought the perfect couch in time to have it delivered that night. The delivery truck came, and the movers tried the elevator first (which I told them wouldn't work, and didn't). Then they started up the stairs. When they cleared the first corner, I mentally cheered and ran to get some of the cushions. Halfway to where the cushions were sitting, the movers called me back--they were stuck on the second floor. Seems that the ceiling was too low to get the couch up the stairs any further.
I won't detail the words that were running through my brain right then, but I'm sure you can make an educated guess as to what they were. As I watched the couch get loaded back onto the truck, and the truck pull away, I had no idea what to do. That was the perfect couch at the perfect price.
It was clear our new couch had to come in pieces. Small pieces that would fit up the midget stairs or into the our miniature elevator. Modular sectionals became the order of the day until we realized that 1-the couches were usually ugly, and 2-the prices for the couches that weren't hideous were way more than our
Ah, Ikea. I love Ikea like nobody's business, but Mr. Goodlaff and I were really hoping that we would be able to buy grown-up furniture. You know, furniture that you don't have to assemble with an Allen wrench. Alas, it was not meant to be. We found a couch, and though we aren't in love with it, it's the best couch ever because it was the only one that ultimately fit in the elevator.
You'll never realize just how nice it is to have a sofa until you've sat on the floor for over a week. So, here in this month of Thanksgiving, I'm thankful to have a couch, but even more thankful to have a couch that finally beat the elevator.