My mother has done it again. She has eliminated yet another couch, the day after she kicks all of my tea out of the kitchen. Anyone has known me for more than two years knows about The Great Couch Fiasco of 2007, where I spent an entire summer without a couch because the voices in my mother's head demanded she eliminate the glorious blue L-shaped
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My dad bought a new piece of plywood, stained it, and replaced the door on its hinges.
Three years or so later my parents got into a fight with my sister, one of them (I can't even remember who, that's how long this was) put up their hand to block the door from closing as she stormed into the room in front of them. Hand goes through door. Every spring my dad promises me he'll redo the door again when it gets warm enough outside to set up his workbench.
I'm still waiting.
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My former roommate used to rearrange my furniture. Not the stuff in my bedroom, but things that I had bought for communal use. She also refused to buy a couch. These are among the many reasons she's my former roommate.
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