About three or four years ago, we got a free couch from a co-worker's dad.  Our previous hand-me-down had become lopsided from a relentlessly bouncy child -- not to mention an overweight Man -- so the timing of the availability of said new[er] couch couldn't have been more serendipitous.  Actually getting the thing into our house was a journey of Odyssean proportions that involved borrowing a pickup truck, hundreds of miles of driving, threats of stormy weather and the complete removal of the front windows from our living room.

But, oh, such a couch!  Soft and cushiony, with a fold-down center console that contained not only cup holders, but a speaker phone as well.  Each end reclined AND had built-in massaging vibrations.  So what if the brownish-gray, faux leather upholstery was a bit worn?  This was the King of Couches!  As it turns out, we never did take advantage of the phone or massagers.  The couch was too far away from a phone jack, and the vibrations were more annoying than pleasurable or relaxing.  It sure was nice, though, to put our feet up on a lazy Friday night for a movie or the Sci-Fi Channel lineup, laying back comfortably as the Wife knitted and I drank a beer.

(If you are reading this and are a parent or a pet owner, by now you've already heard the other shoe drop.)

Unfortunately, within about a year the couch had begun to show significant signs of wear, such as screws occasionally, inexplicably falling out of the undersides of the foot rests.  By this evening, it was in an extremely sorry state.  Large areas of the upholstery were worn down to the underweave, many of the seams torn and resewn with my heavy-handed stitches.  Because of its construction, things that had fallen down under the seating required a Cirque du Soleil-level contortionist's skills to retrieve -- or just declaring them lost.  Stains from countless spills, colored markers and crayons made the original color impossible to recall.  And just this morning a 3-inch rip appeared out of nowhere near the center of the seating area.

The last straw to which this story's title alludes was at about 8:30 tonight, when the Younger Son spilled (or purposefully poured?) an entire bottle of Power Ade (never mind where he got it) onto -- and into -- one end of the couch.  We spent about 5 minutes fooling ourselves into thinking we could salvage this sinking ship, but finally resigned ourselves to a Craig's List search after I lifted it up and disgusting blue electrolytes poured down and out of the other end.  Considering (a) how difficult life has become recently and (b) the fact that the couch had always taken up a huge amount of floor space, I decided that tomorrow's big project while watching the inauguration will be to dismantle the monstrosity and get it the hell out of our lives.  I will likely take pictures.

Problem.  Solution.  That is all.