Adventures in upholstery

There are two types of individuals: those who fix things immediately and others who delay. Some may label it as procrastination, for me, it's dedication. When I first lived by myself, I, like my peers, had a mattress, some extra kitchenware from my parents, and cardboard boxes draped with scarves for furniture. As the years went by, my friends obtained more refined possessions like cars, large fridges and sofa sets. My growth followed a distinctive path, embracing hand-me-down furniture and an eclectic mix of home decor. Initially haphazard, it steadily came together, reflecting the journey of my life. I was content with it, even if not everyone was.

"I believe you need an air conditioner in your living room," a friend repeatedly suggested during his visits to which my response was a consistent "Really?" implying, never. A new acquaintance commented, "Your house appears like someone began decorating enthusiastically before getting preoccupied with travel." I couldn't disagree about my interesting and functional design balance. Upon buying a television, it was suggested I should buy a proper sofa. Regardless of the societal pressure, I resisted the idea of conforming to the traditional middle class lifestyle where matching furniture is more or less mandatory.

However, love happened unexpectedly. On a casual visit to the mall, I came across a lime green sofa that looked like it was straight out of Austin Powers' movie, possibly imported from Moon. The helpful salesperson reassured me that purchasing the entire furniture set wasn't necessary. I pictured myself comfortably sprawled on that sofa, engrossed in a book while golden orioles chirped by the window. Eventually, I gave in and bought the sofa. Reactions to my new acquisition were split - some appreciated its unique suitability to my non-conforming decor, while others had a more skeptical "interesting...suitable for you" remark.

Over time, much like boys with good looks, the interest in the sofa eventually faded as it started showing signs of wear and tear. Its dilapidated state began to trigger some deep-seated middle class guilt in me and when everyone in my social circle, including my cook, pleaded with me, I consented to have it restored.

The arrival of the upholstery repair person filled the room with a sense of hope. He was taken aback by the extreme state of disrepair the sofa was in and tried to persuade me to settle on more conservative colors like grey or beige. But, my choices were an eclectic mix of bright blue for this, and pink for that or perhaps a dash of purple, much to his disbelief. After some negotiation, we agreed to a toned down combination of yellow and green.

When the freshened up furniture arrived a week later, I was thrilled to see the transformation. For the first time in decades, everything in my house looked almost new even if it wasn't. He couldn't quite hide his skepticism but was congenial enough to acknowledge that it suited my style after all. As the bourgeois and bohemian in me found common ground at middle age, I concluded, sofa so good, indeed. No apologies necessary.