The Heat, The Couch And The Male Ego

By Author: Gregory J. Ballan
Total Articles: 9
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The heat, the couch and the male ego

It's been hot here in the People's Republic of Massachusetts. The only thing worse than New England heat is the God awful saturation point humidity that always has to accompany it. I walked out of the office last night and it was like wading into a sauna. The vapor columns of moisture were visible hovering over the ground like steamy ghosts waiting to unleash every sweat gland on the human body.

Naturally, this is the perfect time to move a seven foot Lazy Boy type couch. This couch has the dual recliners on each end and weighs nearly a ton (OK maybe not a ton, but it sure felt like it). My wife had ordered a new sofa and decided that this old piece of furniture would serve a more useful purpose in the basement. Now I freely admit to volunteering to move the couch and my wife said she would have one her friends nab one of their husbands to help me with this feat. Fine I said, not really thinking twice about it nor considering the logistics nightmare I had just signed myself up for.

I arrived home, in the oppressive humidity, and prepared myself for the task. ...
... No neighbor's husband showed up at the time so I decided I would tackle the job myself. I've moved an entire apartment by myself; full size couches and chairs, up and down flights of stairs and into tiny spots that had movers in amazement. I figured this one couch shouldn't be so bad. Guess what? I figured wrong. This combination recliner/sofa/ pain in the ass piece of furniture was designed by Lucifer himself. The frame had no rigidity, it was so overstuffed that it was impossible to get a decent grip anywhere on this fabric covered piece of furniture from Hell.

I spent forty five minutes wrestling with this thing, lifting it one way, trying to angle it through the doorway, too narrow. When that didn't work I tried to lay the couch on its side and slide it through on its edge, that didn't work either. After several failures and about a gallon of sweat the average guy begins to get frustrated, and maybe even a tad angry. This calls for the use of, shall we say, colorful metaphors. For some reason colorful metaphors seem to ease the frustration in the male psyche. It was at that unfortunate moment that my lovely wife decided to Offer advice. As any husband can attest to, after several failures, near heatstroke and several pulled muscles; it's not the time to Offer any advice. My response to said advice was short curt and contained few words. These words sent my wife to the basement convinced that her husband was going to tear the house apart trying to move this couch. I mumbled words that may have pertained to a chainsaw and other such things that are the product of a fatigued, frustrated mind and body. Well, it had, in my warped mind, become a battle of wills. My physical strength vs. the couch from Hell; I was determined to win this war, damage to the house be damned. I can get that way sometimes; my male ego will override my common sense.

I tried for another half hour; to the point of actually hoisting this huge couch on my back and trying to angle it through the doorway and use my arms to change the pitch of the couch as I made progress through the doorway. This was actually working, until the recliners decided to pop out at the same time, causing the balance to shift, sending me slamming into a wall. This, of course, led to even more colorful metaphors and even more determination to succeed. Now God has a funny way to derail fury, and HE knows that once I get up a full head of steam, topped with frustration and anger, I will get irrational and unload at the poor soul that happens to cross my path. This happens very, very rarely. Well, my three year old escaped from her Mothers watchful eye and made her way back upstairs. She sauntered into the family room where I was sitting for a moment staring at my fabric, wood and metal adversary. She smiled at me and walked over and gave me a hug, and then a tap on the cheek followed by a Daddy in that happy little girl tone that only a baby girl can achieve.

Somehow that one little word eradicated all of my frustration and anger; things fell into perspective and common sense prevailed. I was not going to be able to do this alone. I needed help with a task and my physical strength wasn't enough. That was the problem; I didn't have the strength to do it alone, and somehow that ate at my male ego. Why? I have absolutely no clue. It took two full grown men to get the couch in here; logic would dictate that it would take two men to get this cloth covered whale out as well. I couldn't do it alone and needed help. All of a sudden it all seemed so stupid. What the Hell was I trying to do? The mere physics of balancing this thing alone should have told me it was a two man job, let alone moving the thing out the front door and back outside and then carrying it into the basement through yet another door. I looked over at Christie and laughed. She smiled back at me innocently and then asked me for her yellow duck, which was her real reason for coming upstairs in the first place. I got her duck and faced the shameful task of admitting to my wife that I couldn't do it by myself.

I confided in Mrs. Esper about my feelings regarding the couch and my feeling of failure to which she simply laughed at and relayed the nightmare the two furniture guys had bringing the damn thing in. I somehow felt better. My neighbor, Paul, came over and we both managed to move Hell's Sofa. It took every ounce of strength I had and he had to move this thing out of the house, and then carry it 100 feet around the house to the basement and then force fit it back in through a narrow walkout basement door. But working together, we managed to get it done. I could tell Paul was hurting and my back and shoulders were voicing their displeasure. Paul said that that was the most awkward and heaviest piece of furniture he'd ever encountered. I agreed, we shook hands and he limped home in his sweat soaked clothes and I simply walked around the house trying to force a few of my herniated discs back into place and crack my left shoulder. It was done. I'll be stopping by the package store to pick up a case of Paul's favorite brew, that's the least I can do to thank my neighbor.

I wish I had some deep philosophical explanation for the male ego and how it works or how it can make a normally reasonable, logical guy so single minded and headstrong. The truth is I don't. I'm as much in the dark as the next man or woman as to why this happens, but I know from my guy friends that I ‘m not the only male afflicted with this idiosyncrasy. It appears to be widespread amongst our sex. Maybe there's a pill or a shot I can take for it, cuz damn!!!! Every muscle in my body aches today.

Nuff said.

-Esper

About the Author Just an average working class stiff tyring to make it as a Sci Fi writer and columnist.

Columns taken from my blog..Espers Place