Is your mom visiting?
Is your desk chair firmly wedged under the desk you use as an eating surface in order to make room for an air mattress?
Is your coffee table sulking unceremoniously underneath your hammock, rendering booth temporarily useless?
Are you about to eat takeout sushi on your couch, employing a precariously-balanced lap desk and a tiny but full cup of soy sauce?
Scrubs are designed to be puked on, peed on, bled on, et cetera, with no lasting ill effects (after a good trip through the wash).
Couches do not fit in a washing machine.
Soy sauce likes to splash.
Couches do not like to be splashed with soy sauce.
Scrubs do not seem to give a damn.
Scrubs can be convinced to conform to couch-shape with little effort.
I feel the supplied premises are sufficient for you to draw your own conclusions.
(BTW, I’m feeling a little better today. Although my voice is two octaves lower than usual. At least I’ve stopped sneezing. Evil, EVIL sneezing!)