This has nothing to do with football and nothing to do with the Big East. But that’s my name up under the banner, and I want to write about this, so I’m going to. It’s that or I kick something.

On October 3, as the most loyal of you readers likely remember, I moved. I had a gorgeous, deep, snuggly couch that I absolutely loved and that my landlord assured me would fit up the stairs and into my new apartment. The landlord even drew me a picture to show it would fit. I therefore made no effort to sell the couch, moving day came and… the couch didn’t fit. It couldn’t make the turn at the top of the stairs because of a five-inch totally useless, completely-no-function block of wood hanging off the ceiling. As the landlord dithered over cutting the block of wood off, my fabulous movers (re: boyfriend, brother, friend’s husband) put the couch on the sidewalk, next to the U-Haul, and continued bringing other things up.

It started raining. And then someone drove by and stole the wet couch.

(That’s not a joke. But you can still laugh.)

Fast forward to Oct. 20. I finally found a couch I liked well enough, I started the paperwork and then… the saleswoman suddenly tells me the price is $100 more than what she originally said. I stormed out, I fumed and the next day I went back and told the manager about the bait-and-switch. He said he’d split the difference with me, he said the couch would arrive within the week, we again began the paperwork and then… turned out the couch would actually take three weeks to arrive.

Now here we are on Nov. 10. It’s couch-arriving day and I’m struggling not to dance the happy dance. The delivery men arrive about an hour ago, they bring up the couch and… it’s broken. The delivery men take it away, the customer service rep tells me she doesn’t know when they can bring me a new couch and I’m thinking the Japanese have had it right all this time. What’s wrong with sitting on the floor?