This won't take long. It is a short and ridiculous story. A word of warning: certain acts of violence described here maybe unsettling to the faint of heart and lovers of furniture. I was going to say "children" but, frankly, they'll probably find it hilarious. Many years ago, we bought a sofa-bed/sectional. It gave all six of us a place to sit and, when necessary, an extra bed...albeit a very uncomfortable bed. Sleeping there was almost a religious experience since the mattress was as thin as a communion wafer and the next morning you felt like you'd had too much wine. As you might imagine, over the years with four kids and a couple dogs, the poor sofa had met with many an indignity. Several of these incidents, including last Thursday night, were in sort-of liquid form. I don't want to get too graphic, but we've had a little bug floating around the house and last Thursday night it made a tummy attack on one of the kids. Now, we've had the sofa cleaned a couple times over the years and my wife has become a wizard when it comes to getting stains and smells out of fabric. Her talent is the result of having the aforementioned kids and dogs, but also because she and her father are genetically predisposed to carrying and spilling coffee. There is really no chance of either of them ever being completely lost as all you'd have to do is trace the coffee drips. Juan Valdez...and his donkey...spill less java coming down from the mountains than these two do walking from the kitchen to the living room. If you connect all the dots on our carpet, you actually get a picture of "Mr. Coffee," Joe DiMaggio.

Meanwhile, back at the couch: The fact is, this well-used piece of furniture was looking pretty ratty and smelling like the inside of the Jolly Green Giant's post-marathon running shoes. So, on Saturday my lovely wife had an idea. Up until her idea, it had been a pleasant, quiet, uneventful day. There was a paper waiting to be read and M&Ms waiting to be eaten. My wife suggested we remove the old sectional and replace it with a smaller but cleaner couch that had been sitting rather awkwardly where a kitchen table should really be placed. Now, in her defense, it was my bright idea to put the old one in the basement. Our second oldest son told us that he didn't think it would actually fit down the stairwell and, even if it did, make the sharp corner through the basement door. Naturally, since he is 16 and it was a Saturday and he was still wrapped in a blanket from his bed...at 1:00 in the afternoon...I assumed he just didn't want to be pressed into service or, more specifically, be forced to get off the sofa we wanted to move. I insisted we give it a try.

With me on the bottom of the sofa and my wife and son at the top, we started to slide the behemoth down the staircase. I am pretty sure the sofa increased in size as we moved it. We had trouble making the first corner out of the entry way but, after taking a nice-sized gouge out of the wall, we did it! Now, we had the sofa sitting on the steps. Again, the teenager said "I really don't think we can make it go around the corner and we're about four inches off as far as setting it up on it's end to make it that way and I really..." At that point, I interrupted and insisted that we would make it fit. After what seemed like hours...it was only minutes, really...of twisting and turning and moving and lifting it was clear that, the punk was right and we wouldn't be getting this thing in the basement. So, I gave up and said "Slide it back up the stairs." We did. That's when this story takes a very bad turn. Actually, the problem was that the sofa would not make a turn, good or bad! Yes, it was stuck. Again, my physicist son said that going down we had room on the top end to twist and turn the thing but, coming back up, there was no such space. So, there we were with a sofa on the stairs. At one point, the dog stretched out on it looking very content. Our youngest thought we should just leave it there and, then, they could leap onto it on their way downstairs.

I took off the little stubby legs but that didn't help. I tried to find any other detachable piece but had no luck. It was stuck. Somewhere Lucy and Ethel, Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello, Laverne and Shirley were all laughing hysterically. My wife helped by pointing out that she had not said we should take it downstairs. At that point, I asked for the hatchet. I began flailing at this evil, stinky, filthy piece of fabric and wood. With each wallop you could hear the thousands of Legos that had somehow become trapped inside jump up and down. I was making no progress until our daughter pointed to an area she thought made the most sense...a good chop and the arm-rest could be collapsed. I took her advice and it worked. It made it possible for us to get it back up through the door and out into the garage where it sits today. Much worse for wear but, I am certain, laughing at me.

By the way, the other piece of the sectional, the side with the bed, did go downstairs easily and the living room looks much cleaner and bigger with the smaller sofa in place. But, there were moments when I imagined that sofa being on the steps forever. "Oh, that? That's just a sofa. On the steps. A sofa on the steps. You just kind of slide down it to get to the basement. Yeah, quite a conversation piece. Sort of avantgarde in terms of home decorating but we are creative risk-takers, in this family."

All-in-all, it was a learning experience. I learned that a tape measure does, sometimes, have a very real purpose. I learned that, despite what I'd been told as a child, not everything can fit through everywhere just by lifting and twisting. I learned that sometimes a 16 year old boy does know what he's talking about and that our daughter has a better eye for effective demolition than one would think. I learned that, sometimes, when my wife has a "great idea," I should just say "Oh, interesting. We'll see." And, not being a camper or wood-chopper, the whole episode gave me the opportunity to use a hatchet and live out my long-secret dream of being a lumberjack. I also have to say, after seeing what I did to that old couch, all the other pieces of furniture and even appliances, in the house seem to be treating me with new-found respect...or fear...either one is fine with me. Hey, coffee table! Are you looking at me? And, you, ottoman, pipe down.