If you have ever visited any of the places I have lived over the past decade then you have met the extra long crushed velvet couch, and you probably have a story associated with it.

This couch was the first piece of furniture I acquired as “an adult.” It lived in the office where I worked when I first moved to California. I had zero furniture in my Presidio townhouse. So when my managers mentioned it was up for grabs, I fought with my elbows out for that couch and it has been with me ever since. Consequently, it has seen more in the last 10 years than most couches get to see in a lifetime.

It moved with me from the townhouse full of Tool loving teenage boys in San Francisco, to the house of infrequently showering naturalists in West Marin, to the mice infested sheep barn in Chileno Valley, to the fancy horse ranch on Spring Hill and to the retired chicken ranch of Western Ave.

Now it sits prominently in our little Hill home where it frequently serves as the dance party stage for toddlers, grown men and superheros.

Big Red has not aged well… it has ink stains, blue gaffer tape covering holes, busted zippers and fraying ends. I look at it with a touch of guilt and remorse because I am not sure how much longer I can stand to keep it as the central furniture piece of my home.

But then when we have nights that end like this…

I know it isn’t going to go anywhere for awhile. And I hope to always have a couch in my life that is perfect for impromptu dance parties.

(ps: this is clearly my first time playing with gif’s so I apologize for my overzealous posting and I promise it won’t happen again.)