Couch progress

Let me offer first, as a disclaimer, that couch re-upholstery is not for the faint of heart. Any web tutorial, how-to, or YouTube video that would lead you to believe otherwise is lying. If you've never made your own bread/play doh/underwear, trot along, this endeavor would easily shipwreck whatever spunky DIY spirit you've got.

Naturally, I stand firmly on the other side of the bread/play doh/underwear divide. I'm guessing, perhaps, that you do, too. Good. Read on.

This is how it all began, last Saturday. With a screwdriver.

A screwdriver, a hammer, and needlenose pliers were my tools of choice as I prepared to do battle with 500 million tenacious staples. For reference, I should probably put a link to the "before picture," and my harebrained reasons for undertaking such a feat. Here.

Actually, the tool that really made this doable was a teeny screwdriver, the sort you might use to repair a sewing machine. Of course, in my infinite wisdom I didn't bother to take a picture.

As I went, I took lots of reference pictures. My couch had complicated pleated edges, and overlaps, and turn-unders. All sorts of things you wouldn't expect.

Spending a few dozen hours engaged in staple removal really heightened my appreciation and understanding of upholstery. I thought about the poor soul who'd applied the 500 million staples I was in the process of tearing out, and I found myself deeply happy that wielding a stapler is not in my job description.

Yesterday, when I got home from work, I turned the sofa on its end. Though it was light as a feather, with the sofa-bed mechanism removed, it still made me feel absolutely Herculean.

And then what happened? Pete climbed up there like it was his Constitutional Right, and stayed there all evening swiping at my hair.

Terrorism is a cat with an ego problem.