Whenever I walk into a guy's house and I see a futon, I let out a little whimper. I don't care how many pillows he tosses on the thing or how many blankets he drapes over the back, that uncomfortable piece of furniture will never be a couch. It's not even in the couch family. It's like a couch's second cousin's half-brother's roommate. I'm pretty sure they're not even friends. If the couch got married to a sofa, the futon wouldn't even be on the invite list.
For one thing, we can't lie down on it comfortably together. I mean, it's kind of hard to be relaxed with a huge metal pipe digging into my back. The pillows always slip through the arm railing thingy so we slide down like angel hair pasta through a colander. I hate that metal arm bar. Why didn't they make that out of something--oh, I don't know--soft? That one tweak would improve our time in his living room immensely.
I think a half-deflated air mattress has more cushioning than this "mattress." It's all lumpy from years of flopping around and it has weird stains on it that I don't that I don't even want to get into. GOD FORBID if we ever got in a tickle fight and I somehow landed facedown on the fabric. I would do everything in my power not to inhale because I know it will smell like pepperoni meets sweatpant crotch. *shudder*
This futon has got to go. It's basically like trying to watch a movie while lounging on a barbecue grill with a cloth napkin on it. And, that just makes me sad.