The footstool that wouldn't go away

So there's this footstool right? Right, Miss Sugah, right. The G-Units (Grandma and Grandpa) pawned it off on me to take. Let's start with a little footstool backstory.
I remember this footstool being a staple in my G-Unit's living room. As I remember it, it has always been covered in a BRIGHT ROYAL BLUE cover. Being young and naive, I thought that this was it's color. Whenever I thought of their living room, new couches, chairs or rugs be damned, it was omni-present. I think sometimes there were cushions underneath the cover, and occasionally it served as seat, or footrest, though mostly it served to hold the massive Saturday and Sunday editions of the Washington Post. It later years the blue seemed a little worse for wear, but it remained, ever-strong, always there.
My mom and her sibs are constantly telling them to buy a new ottoman, to please get RID of the short blue monster (that apparently has been there since the 1960's). Well, the day finally came! Grandma told me she bought a new ottoman at Target and since I had expressed interest in the footstool (I did? I mean, it's possible, but anyway...) did I want it because I do not have a lot of furniture? I thought about it, and due to the fact that this blue foot stool, approx. 2x3 ft., (If that.) had been such a staple in my childhood days at the G-Unit's house, I said, "Yes, but only if you promise to not carry it down to the basement by yourself." (At age 88, it is not a task to be completed - the basement stairs are steep! I worry enough.) She agreed and I said that next time I was over there way I would pick it up.
Well, that day arrived. I was visiting and they said, "Don't forget the foot stool!" (And the requisite Diet Coke and banana offered every time I visit by my Grandpa and Grandma, respectively.) I assured them I wouldn't and asked where it was. They told me, "In the basement." I made a face at Grandma, but she assure me Grandpa (a year older) had taken it down, oh, ok, that makes me feel LOADS better. [insert sarcasm here] Anyway I went down to find it and saw, not a little blue square waiting for me, but what appeared to be the quintessential 1967 green and tan flower print. Looking dismayed, I asked, "Where's the blue cover?" To which Grandma replied, "We threw it out, your mother insisted. And I guess it was getting rather old." (24 years at least... But this is coming from the woman who throws NOTHING out.) I was a little heart broken, but I thought, well, if I decide I don't want it, I can always get rid of it after I take it. She seemed so pleased I was taking it. So I loaded the 60's disaster print foot stool with all of the stuffing gone and probably wheezing decades old cheesecloth into my face as I dropped it onto my passenger seat in my little Celica.
I bid farewell to the G-Units and my Great Aunt S and was on my way back to Philadelphia.
I made a little stop at my bf's house in Delaware, though about taking the footstool out to air it out and possibly leave it in the garage, but at this point I decided, instead, to wedge it into my almost non-existent back seat and remove it once arriving home.
Well, I did arrive home, the next day, but was feeling lazy (strange for me I know) and decided I'd get it another time. Well, many more times came and went. Trips to Delaware, back to Philly, all the while the little footstool was hanging out, taking up one and half of my backseat bucket seats. No need to move it, we didn't really need it in my apartment, and the only use I have for me back seat is to throw stuff I'm not using into it.
Fast forward 3 months. I'm in Brooklyn. I'm at rehearsal. We are getting ready to do a photo shoot for our new promo photos for the website (www.thegossipfactory.com) and the show (opens this Thursday, 9:30) It's raining a little and we decide instead of taking the train over to the shoot site, to drive. There are two cars, mine, and another girl's - referred to as Lisa Frank in another post - and 11 people. Well, she has a 4 door that can SQUEEZE 6 people. My car, as mentioned before, is a Celica. Hatchback. I can barely fit me alone in there or me with a 25lb dog, let alone more than 2 people that are going to HAVE to get in the back seat, plus camera equipment. (Thankfully one friend is barely more than 90lbs and offers to ride in the back with a slightly larger guy.) I explain the situation. "I have a footstool in the backseat and a bin full of shit (not real poop) in the trunk. I have barely any room." Then the brilliance comes to me in a flash of lightening. I will LEAVE the footstool ON the sidewalk along with every other family's former treasures, now turned trash, or some might find as dumpster dive finds. I think I'm doing someone a favor, the stool is in decent shape, the 1960's fabric isn't stained and isn't ripped, ultimately, it's just fine! I tell everyone I will do this and Lisa Frank stops me and says, "NO! That's your grandmother's footstool, don't just leave it on the curb!" Another friend, K. insists we will find room for it, "You don't want to throw it away, it belonged to your grandmother." I stare at them knowing full well that I want to leave the thing ON the curb, even with the rain starting, but then start to have doubts as this IS my grandmother's stool and why should I throw it away. Lisa Frank INSISTS that I put the stool into her trunk - there's room. Feeling guilty now, I finally relent and let them load up the stool. We drive to the shoot.
Shoot is over 4 hours later (modeling is hard) and I drive off, heading home for a 2 hr. drive back to Philly.
I get a phone call. It's Lisa Frank. "You forgot your footstool."
I laugh. I say, "Please put it on the curb, get rid of it, it's not a big deal."
Lisa, "Noooo! It's ok, I'll just keep it until you get back to the city."
I say, more sternly, "PLEASE. Just put it on the curb, it's OK. I PROMISE."
Lisa, "You can just get it next time you're here."
Thinking someone somewhere is obviously trying to tell me something, I agree. I tell her I'll get it next time it's possible.
Time passes, maybe a month. I am finally driving to Queens for a rehearsal and she says, "Your stool is still in my car!!!"
Silently I curse.
"Ok, well, I'm going to put it on the curb myself."
Lisa, "Actually you can't. You have to call for a pickup."
I silently curse a lot more.
WHAT?!?!?!? Can I not rid myself of this thing?!?!?! She and I walk to her car, get it out and duck walk it back to my car awkwardly (it's surprisingly heavy).
We put it on my passenger seat, legs up, so it can at least hold my purse and water bottle. I slide into the driver's seat, start the car, and look over at the foot stool. "We meet again, old friend." It stares back at me in the dark, not giving in. "Well, you managed to save yourself from that fate." And I had to laugh, because JESUS. Footstool and I drove off into the darkness and towards the Tri-Boro bridge, Philadelphia bound once more. I arrived home in Philly and refused to take the footstool out of the car. I was exhausted, and I promised myself I'd deal with it later. Later came the next day. I drove down to Delaware to visit the boyfriend, do some errands, help him out. I arrived in his driveway, left the foot stool as is and went inside. Later, I remembered there were some clothes in my car I wanted to wash. I pulled those out, and cleaned up some junk in the car and decided once and for all I would be rid of the footstool. (Not ottoman, I refuse to call it an ottoman out of principle.) I yanked it out of the car, carried it down to the end of the driveway and left it on its side, propped up next to the trashcan. I started to walk away and it caught my eye. "Are you SUREEEEE?" It seemed to ask me. I hesitated. A little pang of Jewish guilt rang through me. I started back towards it, then quickly turned around on heel and headed back to the house. Thankfully I'm only a 1/4 Jewish and that pang of guilt disappeared quickly as I became distracted with a movie and some laundry.
Later that night I sat on the edge of my boyfriend's bed, contemplating whether or not I should really use the footstool. After all, it's a decent piece of furniture, it's in good shape. I could get it re-upholstered. Or even just throw a cushion down and get a new cover. It would serve me well, and it's another piece of furniture I wouldn't have to buy. And as I made up my mind once more to salvage the footstool, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the rain began to pour, thereby making up my mind for me. The footstool is no more.

**Addendum: Lisa Frank informs me that she actually drove to LI and had her car serviced while footstool resided in the trunk. She had to actually take it OUT of the car and put it BACK in.**