trash

Dear Frank,

To say I am shocked by your actions is an understatement. We’ve been together for fifteen years and this is how you treat me? I made you happy for so long and now you’re just going to leave me here on the street with a sign plastered to my body that says, “working” like I’m some kind of object that doesn’t deserve a penny’s worth of respect. You’ve left me vulnerable to any Tom, Dick or Tyler who wants to take me home and do God knows what to me. You’ve taken away all of my dignity by leaving me on this scarlet curb. You’ve made it clear to the world that my existence, my very purpose is worth NOTHING!

I was young when we first met. Too young to understand what you wanted. You were my first. I remember the day you laid eyes on me. I could tell that you wanted me so bad. You kept looking me up and down. You ran your hands all over my body and within a matter of twenty minutes, I was in your arms. You moved me into your home. Out of all the models I was sitting next to, you chose me. I felt so special.

You used to call me your “baby.” I was yours and you were mine. I let you do whatever you wanted to me. Through all the different positions you put me in over the years, I was still able to be turned on. Even when you’d stay out late, there I sat, faithfully waiting for you to come home each and every night. You never let me sleep because you were too scared to be alone in the dark with your thoughts. You could have let me rest. I gave you that option, but instead I was forced to constantly entertain. I entertained your dog so he wouldn’t feel lonely while you were at work. I entertained your friends and sometimes even strangers you had just met. You even let them touch me. Despite all of this, I worked hard for you. I had no other choice. It was my purpose in life.

As I sit here on the street, I realize that all my hard work and loyalty wasn’t enough for you. It hurt me to my coils when I heard you tell your friend Bobby that you needed a “change.” It’s because you think I’m fat isn’t it? Well I’m not. I proudly come from a generation of models that weren’t expected to be “ultra slim.” We were celebrated for having a little junk in the trunk. I thought you were an individual, but it turns out, you’re a sheep! You’ve decided to follow the herd and give into a society that rewards the young and throws away the old. I can see through the window that some flat ass model has taken my place. Sadly, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part of this breakup is that you didn’t even have the decency to walk me out. Instead you had your friend carry me out while you hung your new “toy” on the wall like a trophy.

Unfortunately for you, she’ll never be able to satisfy you like I did. They don’t make us like they used to. These new models are all looks and no substance. She’s just a pretty face with a thin body, but she’s ugly and already breaking on the inside. In no time at all, she’ll burn out and you’ll be forced to replace her with a newer model and so on and so on. You’ve made a horrible choice and now you will pay for it. These models will leave you in an instance, but not before they’ve emptied your wallet. Then you’ll be left alone staring at a blank face that you can no longer turn on. And frankly, I don’t give a damn.

I hope you go blind,

1999 JVC TV

Dear Madison & Kelsey,

I’ll never truly understand why you would do me so dirty as to literally kick me to the curb. I lived with you for six years while you were both trying to get your Associate’s degree in dental assisting. I was good enough for you to sit on, eat on, study on, hook up with random people on…hell I even let your Aunt Flo sit on me – except for that one month Kelsey was on a bender and forgot to take her “medicine” and Aunt Flo decided not to visit. Apparently I was good enough then, but I’m not now. Now that you both have jobs and make more than zero dollars an hour, you think you can play me like this? You couldn’t even donate me or better yet burn me. Because I’d rather die than live with such betrayal.

And just so you know, I heard about your new couch from Ikea. IKEA!? You chose to be dirty Swedish socialists rather than represent the stars and stripes?? I hope you enjoy standing in line for days just to get your Pinkberry fix because getting yogurt ice cream outside of America is no easy feat. They don’t even have brownie bites as a topping option.

HOWEVER, there is still time for you to make this right. You two vapid hoes can come back and pick me up before one more homeless man makes sweet love to himself on me. I can’t take being out on this curb one more day. As you can see the vultures on the streets of Hollywood have left me naked without my cushions with nothing more than an empty bottle of some drunk community college drop-out’s urine and napkins that were later used to blow his coke-filled nose. No former fine piece of furniture that was once featured on the Macy’s showroom floor and on the front page of their ads seven times in 1999 should have to live like this.

Therefore, I am putting you both on blast. I hope that this will encourage one kind citizen out there to save me by returning me to my rightful two bedroom apartment on Gardner Avenue in West Hollywood. And if that is not possible, please grab some gasoline and a match and put me out of my misery.

In closing, you’re both basic and I hate you. I hope you get run over by a pack of crotch rockets while crossing Hollywood Boulevard in your ratchet Charlotte Russe wedges.

Your Former Sofa,

Sophia