Dear Couch that We Got from That Couple My Friend Housesat for,
I’m sorry I left you molding in my mother’s basement for so long. I’m sorry for where you ended up.
You were my first piece of furniture, and I didn’t want to ever let you go. And you were free! Wasn’t it cool how you just barely fit into that borrowed Jeep Cherokee? My mother’s scorn for you was puzzling.
It’s been good training for my current position: as a mother whose scorn for her children’s possessions is constant sandpaper on her nerves. I try to empathize. I once loved things that were too old and too stinky to keep. No offense.
Sorry. Thank you.
Love,
-e.