I was in my office, stretched out on the too short couch with my feet hanging over the end. Our cat was busy annoying me by chasing invisible mice around the room and up the walls. I suppose it was his way of telling me I needed to feed him. He was right, usually I had fed him by now, several hours of by now, but I really didn't feel like going downstairs, opening a can, realizing again that his litter box needed changing two days ago, and then walk back up the stairs to my too short couch. The couch that was the perfect size according to the queen of decorating. The couch I had thought was leather until I had mentioned the cat was tearing up the leather and she had looked at me like I was a fool, shook her head, and told me, "its vinyl. Not leather." My response was a surprised, "but I thought..." I cut it off because I was getting the look, the one that said, "you never have left the trailer park." I caught it, and decided not to say, "we paid that much for vinyl!" Instead I mumbled an "oh" and let it go. It just wasn't worth it anymore.
I still liked my too short vinyl couch anyways. It was the only place I could get comfortable in the entire house. Every other piece of furniture looked good but was unusable for sitting or stretching out in. If I had grown up anywhere but a trailer park I would know that furniture is for looks, who made it, how much it cost, not for laying around in, and that was what a bed was for. You can only imagine what kind of reception my suggestion that we get a Lazy Boy recliner was met with. It seems the only people who owned those also owned houses that were, in theory at least, mobile. I was still determined to get one but I had lost every skirmish since and I refused to pay three thousand dollars for some Italian faux recliner that wasn't comfortable.