Thanksgiving break: the one week that I can abstain from pants and anything requiring self-control.
To keep myself from doing anything strenuous, I headed down to my parents’ basement bedroom to watch an old movie from our master collection acquired through our adolescent years here.
And as I venture into this forgotten room, I am reminded of all the different boys and different movies and different memories that ensued from both.
There were boys whom I dated for long bouts and short bouts, boys that broke my heart and whose hearts I also broke.
But one thing remains constant between all of these factors: the couch was never big enough for the two of us.
No matter what or who, this couch, because of its short stature and awkward angle, never fit the both of us comfortably.
And as I lay down on this same couch in this same spot to watch the same movies I have for years, I can’t help but smile.
The couch, just like my life, was never big enough for the two of us anyhow. Not a single one of these boys fit into my life comfortably. And I’m reminded to think that I’ll never have to share this couch again.
No boy will pick me up for a first date here or kiss me goodnight on the steps of this front porch as my parents peer out of their bedroom window upon us (surprise mom & dad…I knew all along).
The next boy I bring to this house must love me enough not to run when I introduce him to my nuthouse of a family. He must know me through to my core in order to let him into this part of my life.
There will be no stuttered introductions and clammy handshakes.
He will stand beside me and I will bring him down to this basement room to sit on this infamous couch I speak of. And as we sit there, I will smile and be reminded of all these memories I speak (or don’t speak) of.
To know that this awkward, movie watching time in my parents’ basement is over brings me much joy.
We’re adults now. Adults with bigger hearts and bigger couches.
And until then, I’ll take a couch for one please, and enjoy it until the right fit comes along.