Having thrown out the couch in a fit of downsizing upon our move (who knew we’d want to sit once we arrived?), we only have one chair. Actually two, but BK always claims one or the other and tends to sleep 23 hours a day. What to do? The Great Chair Hunt of 2016.
Mo says she’s not a Shopper, but that’s not true. Mo is great at shopping. She just really, really sucks at deciding. That’s why I’m here. Close the deal.
We’re at a consignment store. She spotted an old chair here a couple of days ago. It’s old and purple. What more do you need? Sold! We go to the store. She sits in it. Perfect. She loves it. It’s crazy cheap. This is going to be easier than I thought, I realize. Till she says no.
She thinks it looks like a chair from a deceased grandmother’s house. I suspect this is because it IS a chair from a deceased grandmother’s house. She doesn’t think it will work. We look around the store and nothing speaks to us. For the best, since I’m suspicious of talking furniture. And still we have only one chair. The solution is obvious: The Adult Furniture Store.
This store is huge. It appears to be the site of a former funeral home, with magnificent white columns and a maze construction to prevent escape. I already wish I was drunk.
As we walk in, we are greeted by a pillow personalized for Ho and Me. I envision buying it, adding little arrows pointing both directions and surprising Mo for Christmas. But she’s already spent most of the morning trying to poison me with cadmium-laced granola, so I let it go. We look for a chair.
“HAVEN’T I SEEN YOU IN HERE BEFORE?” the salesman asks me. I don’t know. Was I shooting myself, I want to reply. But I mumble no, aware it’s the world’s oldest sales technique. Other than of course, “Hey, baby, looking to party?” And I don’t think I would pay for sex with a furniture salesman anyhow. He goes on to explain the history of the store, which involved a family and a funeral home and a prostitute with a HO ME pillow. That’s fine. We just want a damn chair.
We find ourselves standing next to recliners. This one will do fine. It’s got a button that makes it go up and down, and a beer holder with a blue light that encircles it so you can drink in the dark. Which would be a good idea, since the chair is pretty ugly. Sold.
But, of course, Mo says no. Too functional and comfy and she wants me to be miserable. We soldier on.
Through about 300 other chairs. Too big, too clunky, too ugly. I like them all. I will literally take any one of these beasts to get the ordeal over with. You would think you could just get a chair. But Mo knows exactly what she wants. Or at least exactly what she DOESN’T want. Which would be anything that comes from a store that has a love seat for two people with FOUR beer can holders. And I’m not even making that up.
I surrender, relieved to get out of a store that makes me pretend to be an adult.
Downside: No chair.
Upside: Snapped photo of Mo standing in front of an elephant picture in a sure sign she’s gone Republican on me.
So we’re home, and BK is sleeping in the chair, and tomorrow is the Saturday a couple of weeks from Christmas. We think there’s a chair that will work at the Costly Plus import store, but Mo will be sidetracked by African knockoff carvings and it’s unlikely we’ll ever make it to the back of the store. That Mo loves to shop.
How can we get so hung up on things? It’s just a chair. Something to sit on. I spent the week reading about impoverished families in Haiti trying to piece together lives from discarded cardboard boxes. I’m sure they’d take any chair you gave them. Even though they lack electricity, so the recliner’s little blue light around the cupholder would be lost on them.
Things. We’re so obsessed with things. As we continue to pare down in an attempt to streamline our lives, it seems odd that we’re going the opposite direction. A Tiny House with a chair on top.
Mostly I want to sit down with a beer. Or four. I wonder how much that four-beer love seat was.
Tomorrow, the Great Chair Hunt of 2016 continues. A chair. For sure. And then it’s on to solving that Haiti thing …