The Best Laid Plans

When we moved into our new apartment, Ian and I thought we had devised a watertight, no-risk, ingenious plan. We sold all our furniture before we moved, we measured all the walls and nooks and crannies in our new apartment, and we went out and bought new furniture that fit with almost painful precision into our new space. Our new furniture is practical, spacially economic, and comfortable. Within a month, however, we have begun to see some drawbacks. Or rather, Max has begun to create some drawbacks. Our new furniture fits perfectly into our new living room, provided that everything stay exactly where it is now. The stereo cabinet fits exactly under the countertop between the kitchen and the living room. The bookshelves exactly squeeze into the hallway niche. And (sigh) the couch only fits on one wall in the living room, snuggled right up against the computer desk. This posed no problem whatsoever, until our young monkey of a son learned to climb the sofa. Max has a long-standing affair with lighted buttons of all kinds, and he has apparently been eyeing the printer for weeks now, gauging the distance, flexing his climbing muscles, preparing himself spiritually for the moment when he would be able to heave himself up onto the couch and be within easy reach of the printer. That moment arrived three days ago, and in between then and now, Max has progressed from climbing the couch and touching the printer, to climbing the couch and dismantling the printer, to climbing the couch, climbing the printer, and touching the computer next to it. We unplugged the printer to make it less enticing, but Max is unfooled by our ruse. He knows those buttons light up and make whirring noises, and he will keep pushing them until he can prove it to the world.