My daughter tells her friends I sleep on the couch. A couple of parents have overheard her. “Oh, she’s so funny,” they say. “Is your wife mad at you? Did you misbehave again?”
Yes, I misbehaved, ha, ha, ha, ha. I’m being punished.
But not by my wife. I have my buddy CF to thank for my exile.
Cystic fibrosis has given me the amazing superpower to sleep anywhere, except flat on a bed. Give me $5 Walmart pillow and a couch, chair, tub, wheel well of an old pick-up truck, or dumpster full of McGriddle wrappers and I’m good to go.
It’s been over 9 years since I’ve slept prone, even in a hospital. The wonderful tag team of GERD and hemoptysis has forced me to sleep upright on a couch. And that’s what I do, sleep on a couch. But not just any couch.
I sleep on the dog couch.
And a dog sleeps with me. As well as three princesses who keep me warm at night. It’s magical.
I place an old ottoman next to the couch for my legs because the pup sleeps at one end and takes up my foot space.
If I weren’t so cheap, I’d buy another couch. However, this couch has sentimental value. It’s the one my daughter puked on five or six times when she had the stomach flu. Oh, the memories. The special smell. The stains. The trip to the weekend Pediatric ER for a fluids I.V.
How could I ever get rid of it?
I love this couch. And this couch loves me.