I’m into modular lounges, those big, fancy wrap-around classics that you can lie on, sit on and snuggle up together on near the fire on a winter’s evening. They are versatile and comfortable and allow people to sit together rather than sit apart in their own ‘personal space’, ie, those darn armchairs that I had to buy years ago because my husband insisted that he had to have a ‘chair’ to recline in for his afternoon nap.
As I’m pretty much into invading other people’s space for a bit of attention at times when it suits me, the modular lounge suits my style. It allows me to blend into my own space and sprawl out and/or corner my husband when he’s on his second ‘yes dear’ – and into his space to get some of that aforementioned attention. It’s perfect.
I was still in mourning for the modular we had owned before those darn armchairs arrived, but I had conceded reluctantly at the time. Shortly after, I managed to sabotage him with the addition of a ‘colour coordinated’ three-seater lounge suite to go with his lovely chairs and a chaise lounge two years after that, which complimented both pieces of furniture. It wasn’t a modular but I was gaining ground.
Now after years in the wilderness I was finally winning the game. We had agreed on a modular lounge. The only problem was that he wanted leather and I would rather have eaten glass.
We spent the equivalent of 50 hours in as many furniture stores over the following months sitting, touching, lying and bouncing around on an assorted collection of contenders – but we could never agree.
The last straw was the argument in a large furniture showroom that ensued after I told him that if he could find a leather lounge that was as soft as my butt I might consider his request. He proceeded to tell me that he wanted a firm, not saggy modular – and stalked off to buy a steam cleaner for his armchairs.
I’m still waiting for an apology.