CROSSING THE LINE

The house seemed to be bubbling with excitement that day, the day the new couch arrived. I remember it well, even though I was only six years old.  My parents finally got a new couch and my mother was very excited about it.  I can still see the beautiful french provincial couch sitting in the old living room.   I don’t remember that much furniture being in the room so it was a real show piece.  The couch was dropped off and my mother made sure they left the plastic covering on it as she was worried it would get ruined right that second.  I took a step to run, dive and jump on the couch and I felt the hands on my shoulders.  “You do not cross that line” my mother said.  I think I exasperated my mother when I was a little girl because right away I looked at the floor where she was pointing and I said “what line?”  My mother takes her finger and I followed her finger as she painted an imaginary line right across the hallway where we were standing.  My mother then repeats, “that line, don’t cross it.”  “What colour is the line mommy?”  “Black” my mother says.  “I don’t like black, how about yellow?”  “Whatever colour, just don’t cross the line,” my mother says.

I’m not sure how many days my mother left that plastic wrap on the couch but the line thing was just way too tempting for me.  “Don’t cross the line,” I would hear again and again in my head.   I would be playing downstairs in the basement and at some point I would think about that damn couch and sneak up the back stairs, through the kitchen and into the hallway where you could either go up two stairs to the upper part of the house or step out of the hallway into the living room where the untouchable couch seemed to be calling my name.  I sat on the stairway and stared at the couch and thought “how I would like to park my butt on that couch.”  I managed to not succumb to the temptation; I think I knew if my mother caught me  I was as good as dead.  Sitting on the stairway I would look at the imaginary line and pretend the line was a different colour every  time, but never did I cross the line to sit on the couch.

I must have sat on that couch at some point, but to this day I have no recollection of sitting on the couch I just remember staring at it from across the room.  I love to thrift and every time I run into a french provincial couch in the thrift stores I stop in my tracks and check it out.  I always take a seat and remember that old couch and have a good laugh about it being covered in plastic and the line that I was not allowed to cross.  Silly really, it’s only a couch!

Recently I decided we needed a new couch in our family room and true to my champagne taste on a beer budget, the couch I wanted was over $2,000.00.  I have to say that if I brought that couch home  to my two boys who throw all their weight on my furniture and when I’m not looking sneak their food to the couch to  watch tv; I think I would opt to leave the plastic on the couch and draw an imaginary line.   I have a better understanding of how my mother felt.  We did purchase a new couch – found a great couch and bought it off someone for $60.00.  $60.00 verses $2000.00 – really a no brainer easy on the budget and no need to draw an imaginary line.  Below is a picture of a french provincial couch that reminds me of that couch so many moons ago!

Sofa+ChairFrenchProvincial1

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2 thoughts on “CROSSING THE LINE

  1. That’s so pretty. I get so aggrevated sometimes about my own favorite couch, when I find the pillows and cushions everywhere but the couch. But…it is just a couch. I feel a little bad for you that you never got to enjoy that couch. -Tabitha

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