Not Entirely Fiction

"I hate you," she said to the couch.

It wasn't true- she didn't hate the couch. But she did hate the couch-cover, that horrible piece of fabric that transformed her lovingly selected couch into a hideous, ill-defined blob.

"You are everything that's wrong with my life," she continued, attempting in vain to tuck the stretchy material in between two cushions, and thereby impart a sense of 'furniture' to the mess. "You're turning something awesome into something stupid, just because it's more practical," (this said as though the word were a particularly offensive expletive) "And you're ugly and you don't even really get the job done, anyway. Sure you shield from repeated vomit attacks, but look- just look!" She plucked ineffectually at a densely perforated bit that might have covered an arm. "You're useless when it comes to claw-protection!"

She flopped down on the puke-green microfiber and let out a gusty sigh. "I hate you," she repeated, "But I just don't have the guts to go without you."