As a college student, I’ve spent many nights sleeping on a futon. Sometimes I passed out in the middle of late night homework sessions, other times my roommate kicked me out of our room. I’ve offered my futon for others to sleep on, and my household uses it every day when we watch movies together.  

Futons are popular for a few reasons. They’re generally affordable and easy to transport. They come apart easily and can be put back together in no time. This is especially handy when you live anywhere with stairs or narrow hallways.  

They offer seating during the day and an additional bed at night. 

I’m not going to lie, though. Hearing the word “futon” invokes a deep rage within me. The morning after sleeping on one lands me directly in the chiropractor’s office. I toss and turn all night, trying to decide if I want my feet or my head on the couch. There’s no way to fit both on unless you’re a skilled contortionist.  

Even when just sitting on them, there’s somehow always a bump or lump jabbing into me. After last semester, my roommate chucked her futon directly into the dumpster, precisely where it belonged.  

While futons are affordable and useful if you live in a small area, I hate them with a burning passion. I hope to one day own my very own couch.