A fascinating trend has sprung up since dating the beau: whenever we host an event, it tends to become a "first annual." The annual wine & cheese night, hosting Seder every Passover, a yearly Friendsgivinukkah feast, etc - there's still arguments that the crawfish boil from last summer needs to become an annual affair (#becausecrawfish). The problem is, after a few repeat gatherings started to occur, I began to internally freak out that people would get bored. You know, tired of the same old soiree. Sometimes as an "annual" the ability to switch things up is just limited by nature.
So, due to my rising panic and fear of bored visitors, I started trying to switch up anything that I could. Tablescapes, attire theme, guest list*, signature cocktails, and... furniture arrangements.
Cue me frantically disconnecting and dragging half of our large L-shaped couch into the kitchen one day, while the beau was out making a last minute grocery run for an upcoming party. I quickly rearranged all the other furniture and tablescaped. He was bound to love it, I told myself. And if he didn't, well, I had already rearranged the whole apartment so, too bad, it was too late.
His immediate reaction, and the eventual reaction of the guests** was pretty much the same: "So, a couch in the kitchen, huh? That's interesting...." But hear me out!
Having a sofa in the kitchen combines two of my favorite things: eating and lounging (#wheninrome). It allows you to be a culinary voyeur, watching the intimate comings and goings of one of the most essential rooms in the house - from a comfortable and interesting vantage point. It's a room that serves happiness and sustains life. Where tradition meets necessity, and where hunger goes to die. Why wouldn't you want to perch and play witness?
Besides, the beau loves to cook - and I love being fed. So why not move my feeding zone closer? Save the step of transporting the food? Cut out the serving dishes and the middleman and just give a gal a spoon!
True, it's also a room of mess and scraps and grease. A battle royale of scents. A spill and stain nightmare. And oh sweet lord - those crumbs! All these things make a kitchen couch a temporary joy. It cannot survive long in this non-native habitat. But like many such momentary things, it is therefore all the more enjoyable.
I say no shame, only semi-functional furniture, moved in a way that optimizes joy. (I'm sure there's some hippie self-help book that preaches something similar out there.) Nested under a large set of windows, a perfect lake breeze keeps kitchen-couch at a perfect temperature. On the weekend, sunshine makes for a most content spot to roost. A glistening lake out the corner of one eye, a batch of brownies out the other. A literal heaven. A perfect pair.
((In fact, KC & the Sunshine Band? Probably stood for Kitchen Couch & the Sunshine Band. Just saying... think about it.))
Yes, kitchen-couch and I only shared a few beautiful days nestled up, as the holiday season approached, but I look back fondly at our time together. Some sunlight, a good book, snacks on snacks on snacks. If only the food mess hadn't become such a (literal) sticking point, I might still have a couch in our kitchen to come home to...
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| I stand by my choice: kitchen couch love is true love <3 |
* Guest lists for gatherings have become a slippery slope for me. I hate leaving people out, but sometimes there's just a limited amount of space, especially for meal related / sit-down dinners. And if something is an annual, it's not like you can just start excluding someone, so you just add more and more until you realize, whelp, there's just no spare but we'll figure it out! (Note: this is secretly my favorite problem to have - may I be lucky enough to continue to have many friends in close proximity so I can have problems like this. I WILL find a way to fit you ALL!)
** As our party raged on, I continually hailed friends to join me on the awkwardly low cushiony oasis. Given the rising temperatures in our ever-more-crowded apartment (radiator heat is a cruel mistress), the spot grew steadily more appealing, for it was also next to one of the few open windows. A delightful breeze, a front row seat to all the action happening in both rooms, this corner space was a perfect party perch. By the end of the night I had a few converts, and a bemused beau who agreed to let me keep it for a little while longer. (Likely because I get extremely pouty and bearish in the winter months, and any little thing that can bring me joy, he tends to oblige. Because he's a good fella.)
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