My Couch is a Tattle-Tale

My mom asked me the other day how my couch was working out. “It’s great,” I said, “but I can see my butt print when I get up.” She started to chuckle and then said to me, “Now Rece, when people are there, you can’t tell them they’re sitting too hard or whatever. It’s a couch, that’s what it’s there for.” She completely missed my point. “I know that Ma,” I responded, “but it leaves butt prints and when I get up, I can see how big my butt really is.” And she laughed. Sometimes people miss my point. My couch is cute; I love it. It’s blue, vintage looking, and definitely classy in my little apartment. But the couch is a total gossip. She tells everybody the size of the person’s butt who last sat on her. Ouch. It’s painful. When you come visit me, I suggest you try what I’m learning to do routinely, gently rub out the butt print on the velvety couch and no one will have to know…


Tata for now.



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