Hey! Guess what! I shed my artery-filled legs which loved spurting and got NO NOT NEW LEGS but a new coffee table, and my parents shed a tear, because the old coffee table table lived in their very 1975 apartment and before they they gave it to ME, it sat lovingly in their attic.
Okay, so here’s the deal. The coffee table? wanted me DEAD. As in not quite alive, gone to find the choir invisible, and most definitely NOT ALIVE. How do I notice this? WELL.
The coffee table was metal, with a GLASS TOP and VERY pointy and stabby corners and I shall bear those wounds FOREVER. PLUS, I have a horrible habit of falling down for NO reason, and dudes, that would be FATAL.
SO! When I was at a various mental health professional, my parents got crafty. Oh wait. I might have been taking one of my myriad naps (psych meds make you WICKED sleepy) they entered my apartment, REMOVED the coffee table of death and gave me a BRAND NEW coffee table from Home Goods and then? LEFT THE APARTMENT LIKE NINJAS.
Dudes? You could have found this mofo at GYMBOEREE. It’s so SOFT! You could ram your baby’s head into it and she would be all ” Coo! I wuv you too, Mama!”
It’s pretty much the best thing ever. Never again need I worry…Wait a minute. *reads back* HOLD ON A SECOND.
I have three cats.
The coffee table is a rich, black..(wait for it) LEATHER.
I. Am. Doomed. Nice knowing you, my gorgeous coffee table!