Futons, schmutons
The futon. Let's discuss.
The futon is by no means a foundation upon which you sleep. What is it then? A modern day torture device. The secret to Berlitz’ success? The futon kept hidden away for the "difficult" cases. Photo posting issues with Blogger (sigh, again) prevent me from showing you what a futon looks like, if you don’t already know. But maybe it’s better that way.
The possession of many a college student, futons are the cheap alternative to sleeper sofas - they function as a couch and a convertible bed rolled into one. For adult homeowners, however, they are also a preventative measure to ensure that their guests don't become unwelcome ones. The futon is ideal for when you are taken with the idea of having guests sleep over, but don't foresee them parking themselves on your couch for ten days, littering your sofa with Doritos while your dog looks on, offended at losing their real estate. (Trust me, I know, which is the only reason I would even consider buying one).
Putting it shortly, if your host has a futon, don't get too comfortable. And if it's in a floral pattern, they hate you.
But the dislike goes both ways. If I'm staying over your place, you can welcome me in, serve me a mimosa, and make me feel right at home. But show me a futon and the back of me is out that door lickety-split, dialing up the nearest Econo-Lodge.
Cue Saturday night when I had no choice but to stay over a friend’s place in NJ, because after a night of merriment driving home would have been unwise. Therfore I didn't notice anything until the next morning, when I wondered who rammed a metal bar across my back in the middle of the night. Turns out no one did, just I had been sleeping on a futon. J, if you're reading this, I will be sending you the bill for my chiropractor.
Until Sealy or Serta decide to get in on the cushion action, the shadow of my ass will never darken another futon, not if I can help it! Because no matter how cute or convenient the futon appears to be, let's get real. It's not comfortable. Those mattresses fool you for the first half hour, but then you sink to the bottom and start shifting around, trying to restore blood flow to that particular region of your tusches.
I highly advocate a law requiring this: to purchase a futon, you must show ID or bank statements proving you are either under 21 or still paying off those student loans. Otherwise, futons should be sent to the hallowed depths of Furniture Hell, along with Lava Lamps and Pottery Barn.
I am so not feeling futons.
The futon is by no means a foundation upon which you sleep. What is it then? A modern day torture device. The secret to Berlitz’ success? The futon kept hidden away for the "difficult" cases. Photo posting issues with Blogger (sigh, again) prevent me from showing you what a futon looks like, if you don’t already know. But maybe it’s better that way.
The possession of many a college student, futons are the cheap alternative to sleeper sofas - they function as a couch and a convertible bed rolled into one. For adult homeowners, however, they are also a preventative measure to ensure that their guests don't become unwelcome ones. The futon is ideal for when you are taken with the idea of having guests sleep over, but don't foresee them parking themselves on your couch for ten days, littering your sofa with Doritos while your dog looks on, offended at losing their real estate. (Trust me, I know, which is the only reason I would even consider buying one).
Putting it shortly, if your host has a futon, don't get too comfortable. And if it's in a floral pattern, they hate you.
But the dislike goes both ways. If I'm staying over your place, you can welcome me in, serve me a mimosa, and make me feel right at home. But show me a futon and the back of me is out that door lickety-split, dialing up the nearest Econo-Lodge.
Cue Saturday night when I had no choice but to stay over a friend’s place in NJ, because after a night of merriment driving home would have been unwise. Therfore I didn't notice anything until the next morning, when I wondered who rammed a metal bar across my back in the middle of the night. Turns out no one did, just I had been sleeping on a futon. J, if you're reading this, I will be sending you the bill for my chiropractor.
Until Sealy or Serta decide to get in on the cushion action, the shadow of my ass will never darken another futon, not if I can help it! Because no matter how cute or convenient the futon appears to be, let's get real. It's not comfortable. Those mattresses fool you for the first half hour, but then you sink to the bottom and start shifting around, trying to restore blood flow to that particular region of your tusches.
I highly advocate a law requiring this: to purchase a futon, you must show ID or bank statements proving you are either under 21 or still paying off those student loans. Otherwise, futons should be sent to the hallowed depths of Furniture Hell, along with Lava Lamps and Pottery Barn.
I am so not feeling futons.
posted by Currin Girl at 12:41 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home