Before we moved into our new house earlier this year, we were renting a two-bedroom terrace while we tenanted and eventually sold our own two-bedroom first floor flat.
I was 7-months pregnant at the time and
obviously nesting excited by how much extra space we (thought we) would have, so decided we would go on a bit of a furniture shopping spree! Which is what all normal, non-hormonal people about to be off work for a year on statutory maternity pay do, right?
Luckily for our
relationship bank balance, a friend of a friend was in the job of dressing show homes and had a huge lock-up full of discarded furniture going for about a zillionth of the price.
It was like walking into a John Lewis themed Aladdin’s Cave… and the Greek God(zilla) was the genie who would make all my furniture wishes come true, or whip out his credit card to purchase them at the very least.
We decided upon a 6 seater dining table, 2 ornamental lamps, a morroccan rug, matching vases and a magnificent 4-seater fabric sofa in cream with goosedown filled cushions.
On the day the sofa arrived, I plumped it, dressed it and when finally satisfied with how absolutely gorgeous it looked in our new living room, I sat myself down on it with a nice cup of tea (and probably a generous wedge of chocolate cake, I can’t really remember for sure).
Oh. I seemed to sink between the two cushions and it felt like I was sitting directly on the wooden frame. I repositioned myself closer to the arm of the sofa, better. OK, not better. The feathers pressed flat beneath me.
Little did I know that I would be re-plumping those cushions to re-distribute those
godamn goosedown feathers after EVERY sitting.
‘I think it needs to be re-stuffed’ I said rather gloomily to the Greek God(zilla) as I slid back down between the two cushions again.
I researched options and found that it would be easier to replace the feather cushions with memory foam instead. The sofa would also look a bit neater with foam cushions. So, we sent the cushions off to be filled with foam and the goosedown was retired to the loft.
Months passed and our beautiful baby boy was born.
He puked all over the sofa. Fortunately the colour of baby sick matched the cream tone of our sofa almost perfectly.
More months passed – we weaned him, he started to crawl, pull himself up and then walk.
He left sticky little marmite fingerprints all over the cream cushions. He rubbed apple oat bars into the covers and squashed bananas down the sides.
I got my red wine back on and splashed it all over the valence.
We washed the covers a fair few times and each time they shrunk just that little bit more. One attempt to stretch a seat cover over a foam cushion resulted in the zip breaking and a huge tear in the fabric. By this point, we didn’t even care. I just piled on more decorative cushions to hide it… and sometimes I couldn’t even be bothered to do that.
I found myself enviously eyeing up friends’ sofas whenever we went to visit. The A-Team had recently purchased a particularly plush sofa that you just melted into. In a good way. A really good way. I reclined back and thought this is what clouds must feel like. I coveted that sofa from afar for many months.
It was so comfy that the Greek God(zilla) fell asleep on it one day when we had been invited over for lunch. Just curled his little legs up and fell fast asleep. He claims he was exhausted from playing cricket the day before. I claim he was hungover from the post-match booze up. Anyway…
We moved house and took our crappy old beaten sofa with us. The A-Team moved house and found their almost brand new shiny sofa did not fit the room.
‘We’ll take it!’ I squealed gleefully as my sister sadly conceded it was cheaper to let it go than to buy a bigger house.
We had to wait a few weeks while the A-Team chose new sofas and arranged a delivery date but on Monday our wait was finally over and our new sofa arrived.
Looking a tiny bit shellshocked from traveling in the back of a white van, we had to make a few little plumps here and there, but in no time at all our room was transformed.
So, the moral of this story is buy cheap, buy twice. And, sisters rock.
What’s the biggest waste of money you’ve ever spent?