Merry &*(@$#ing Christmas!

Picture it, and those of you who know Justin, can totally picture this. It's Christmas Eve, I have been asking Justin all week to help me remove the old couch from the living room. You know, the ugly one(s) I can't stand that got picked out by Ed, oh, 8+ years ago when he and I were engaged. OK. So, we get an old couch from Jo's neighbor. It's used, yes, but it is, and get this - ONE solid color. Not 15 different colors all splashed around to look 'cool'. And get this, Jenny, you will especially appreciate this - the cushions have velcro on the new one, so that they don't always keep popping off. Great, so, we get this other couch and for a week I have been asking Justin to help me move the old one, since I cannot and will not have 3 couches in the living room. So, here we are on Christmas Eve. I have been asking all day, please help me with this. Finally, the time comes. Now, aside from being ugly, the damn thing is a behemoth. Huge and cumbersome and heavy. So, we try to push it out the door. It doesn't fit. (Oh, footnote here, there's like, 1/2 hour til the Browns are on...I am really pushing my luck here, apparently, but I didn't even know that yet) ... Upon twisting, turning and pushing some more, it still doesn't fit. Now I , knowing and seeing that it is currently IN our living room, figure, well gee, we got it in here, there must be a way to get it OUT of here. Not he. No, not my husband, he doesn't want to be bothered with couch duties today, it's freakin Christmas Eve day AND the browns are about to be on. Curse me for asking all WEEK for him to help, he has put it off till today, fully well knowing that I will NOT have everyone over for Christmas with 3 couches in my living room, but still, it is my fault, i suppose. Ahhem. Push it some more. Swearing now, he is cursing the couch and all that it stands for. We take off the front door. Off the hinges, laying it on the front porch. Still the couch will not fit. He is in a screaming madness now, yelling for all he is worth at the f'ing asshole couch and it's inability to fit through our door. I mean a full fledged FIT. Of Evan proportions. (ahh, the kids did not witness this whole event, thank God) I try to remain calm, never having seen someone get quite so upset an an inanimate object. After he almost breaks down the wall and the door frame, I yell at him to stop and let's think for a minute. He walks away, and I think, hmm, maybe that did the trick and he is coming up with some ingenious plan. Ingenious, my ass. He walks upstairs, still cursing the couch and I think myself by now, and he is carrying the circular saw. I am now a little frightened. Oh, and he has the hammer in his other hand. We give it one last heave-ho, which of course only pisses him off further as the thing still doesn't move. So, while it is laying on it's front, he decides in true maniac fashion , to jump on the back of it, ripping as much material as he can in the process all the while screaming "you f'ing thing, muthafucker". I stare dumbly. I start to become a smart ass, which definitely does not make things better, by saying, now stop it, you have lost it, what is your problem, etc.. I go for a moment to the bathroom to collect my thoughts. Upon my return, he has taken the hammer and gone about beating it in strategic areas, to no avail. The damn thing is invincible. A few more "muthafuckers and asshole couches" later, the circular saw is plugged in and whizzing for it's life and he is going at the thing. I stand there, surveying the cloud of sawdust spewing around my living room, landing on all areas that I just had f'ing cleaned, with a good layer landing in places I cannot even reach. Upon completion, we get it out the door. He then proceeds to drag it to the.... TREELAWN! Nothing says "Merry Christmas, welcome to our home" quite like a mangled couch on your treelawn. I wait til he puts the circular saw away to tell him that by God, he might be crazy, but I want the damn thing at the very least, moved to the back of the yard so that we may portray some small bit of normalcy upon the family's arrival the following morning. So, a week later, here sits the thing in the back yard. I'm thinking maybe we should display it on the front porch, so that we can be true hillbillies. Nothing says class like a busted up, cut up, 80's paint splattered couch on your front porch.