It has come to my attention that I am now allergic to our couch. This is not wholly unexpected. Spring is in the air, which means if you look at me wrong, I sneeze. With pollens already irritating my sensitivities, it doesn’t take much for anything else to send me over the edge into a reaction — in this case, a couch I purchased for fifty bucks from my ex-boyfriend’s ex-roommate’s ex-girlfriend (really) twelve years ago when she moved to another apartment and didn’t want to take it with her. In addition to a fold-out bed so treacherous it could mangle the strongest back, it houses an assortment of writing implements, several handfuls of change, and enough fur to make a full-grown cat.
Adding another allergen to my repertoire was not one of my goals for this year, no matter how worthy the specimen may be. To be honest, I’m still trying to get used to having allergies in the first place. Thanks to good luck in the lottery we call genetics, penicillin, strawberries, bees, and even poison ivy have never given me so much as a rash, sneeze, cough, or itch.
And then by chance I moved to the desert — the climate that physicians in Ohio (where I grew up) recommended for those sensitive to pollens and the like. Now I gleefully spend every spring sneezing. Which is where the couch comes in (again). When springtime rolls around, and the pollens are at their worst, something in or on the couch, knowing that I am temporarily weak, joins in and gives me hives. Since my husband’s not moving back east, and I won’t move without him, the couch has to be the one to go, because I can handle spring in the desert or I can handle ancient upholstery, but it turns out that I can’t handle both.
This is not a decision to be made lightly, however. I’ve had my sofa over a third of my life — longer than I’ve owned any item of clothing, three times longer than my husband and I have been married, and twenty-four times longer than I’ve had my car. Shabbiness and reaction-inducing upholstery aside, there are some serious attachment issues here. Which means I must a) learn to hate the thing so much I must be rid of it or b) find a replacement I like even better. Since the latter has turned out to be nigh unto impossible, it looks like I’m fully relying on choice number one. Once the Couch of Death (See? I’m trying.) is properly vilified in my mind, maybe it will be easier to send it to the great furniture warehouse in the sky and invite a younger, prettier model into our family room. I’ll even try not to feel too guilty about it, but I’m making no guarantees.
Closeup: Couch of Death + Minion (for scale)
Click on photo for enlarged villainy. It’s probably worth it.
After Desert Storm I came back allergic to just about everything. My cats, I let attrite…didn’t replace them as they died. Got micro-fibre covers for stuff, micro-fibre filter bags for vacuums, the works. Tore out all the carpets and installed hardwood floors (BTW, great tax deduction if you can get your doctor to write a letter recommending it…helps get over the hump on medical expenses AND you wind up with nice floors!).
Biggest problem I have is that I like open windows in the spring…pollen gets on the keyboard…and eventually I rub my eyes…bad move.
I’ve been sneezing and rubbing my eyes all week. Luckily, no problems here with upholstered furniture, but last year I had to give up my feather pillows in favour of foam.
Act quickly, Caryn! Hives this year, but who knows how far the Couch of Death might go…!
Keri, that’s awful! I hope they don’t get worse as she gets older. I’ve heard that many kids now are so much more prone to allergies than they used to be.
Oh, J.L. That must have been really hard. I wonder what changed it all? Being in a new climate for so long, maybe? But I love your ingenuity in getting your physician to write a note and then using it for tax purposes. It sounds like a very reasonable medical deduction, actually.
Mary, I still have my feather pillows — well, most of them, at least. I hadn’t thought of them as being allergenic. May have to look at them if I start experiencing other symptoms, too. As for the couch, it actually *is* getting worse, so I really should act soon. We just haven’t found any couches we like — well, for a price we’re willing to pay, at least!
Oh, I empathize! I used to pride myself on how UNallergic I was, only to discover after repeated sinus infections that the real problem was allergies. Molds. Feathers. Horror of horror — cats! On a Friday night, after drinking red wine and eating blue cheese, I’d retire to bed (where the cats had slept earlier) and pull the down comforter up to my chin and cough — not sneeze, but cough.
We, too, considered a leather couch, but wouldn’t the sharp cat claws poke through? We decided that would be a rather expensive experiment so, for now, we vacuum the couch, shampoo it every so often, and put down blankets for the cat to sit on that we can then wash. Yes, we’re down to one cat, and after him, sniff, no more kitties. I hear that guinea pigs are cuddly…
🙁
Morven
P.S. Yeah, get rid of the feather pillows. It helps.
Our cats (3 different ones total over the years) don’t seem to like the leather much – they didn’t/don’t sit on it or claw it, but they did/do this to the cloth couches. To make the current cat welcome, we just leave out a throw blanket for him to curl up on.
Cost is a definite issue with leather (we found ours on sale), but we’ve now had it for *counting* 10 years and its holding up much better than the upholstered one that we’ve only had for 5 years. And both cost more or less the same. Next time (when the boys have managed to do in the current sofa) we’re sticking with leather.
Morven, that really makes me wonder about a friend of mine. She has frequent sinus infections. Maybe they’re really allergies. For her sake I hope not, although it might actually help her resolve the problem. And thanks for the hint on the feather pillows. I didn’t realize they could cause such a problem.
Ilana, it’s good to know that the cats didn’t hurt the leather. Mine haven’t been particularly interested in my leather shoes, belts, etc., so that’s probably a good sign. Though I do like that you put down a blanket for your kitties. And the life of a leather couch is a good point, one I hadn’t taken into consideration. Plus, I’m sure it becomes softer and more comfortable as it is around longer and broken in.
Welcome to allergy hell where everything must be viewed with deepest suspicion. Just sneeze and do not bother to pass go, directly to the Kleenex.
As for that couch – it is evil and badly behaved – evict it – and the hordes of dust mites that call it home!
Don’t know if you get Weleda products in the States, but try to get yourself a homeopathic injection of Gensydo, a Weleda product – stings like hell but you’ll stop sneezing. I swear by it.
I’m afraid couches belong in a category with wall-to-wall carpets. I vacuum both, seemingly to no avail. Yup, I hoist my vacuum up onto our two couches and vaccum diligently. (we have two dogs; the beagle is a soft-place-to-sleep maniac. And yes, beagles shed.)
Anyway, I suggest we stage a “couch in” or rather, a couch out. On a selected day, all of us with couches-bearing-pet hair would just set them outside on the curb. Any takers would be welcome to them. Meanwhile, I would be indoors, ripping up the carpet, too. And there would be no more lying about in front of the TV until the hardwood floor was installed and the leather couches were delivered. (yes, I love everyone’s reference to a leather, or leather-like, couch – why didn’t I think of that when I bought these two lovely nubby, intensely textured couches several years ago?)