purple throne

After years of lining up on the sofa together like the beginning of a Simpson's episode, we have a new chair--a very big, purple chair. You can't imagine the anguish we have gone through over the past couple of years over something as simple as a chair. As a family unit, we could not come to any kind of concensus on chairs. The male contingent (I'll just call them Bart and Homer for the purposes of this story) wanted leather. They wanted lever-action reclining. They droolingly eyed options like drink holders in the arms. I tried to be sympathetic to their needs, but no self-respecting woman is going to allow a lazyboy (or man) to run roughshod over her decorating scheme. I made an excutive decision to simply go out and purchase the chair I wanted. Still, before I wrote the check, I gave them the benefit of the doubt and let them sit in the chair. They responded with a new volley of complaints which fell on deaf ears because I had frankly had enough. Now that we have the wonderous chair, which is much bigger in my house than in the furniture store (I seem to have some space perception issues), their whining has fallen off and they look longingly at the chair as I lounge in it at all sorts of comfortable angles. The partner man reaches a hand over to touch my knee or foot, telling me it is lonely, now, all the way over there on the sofa. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, my dear. I shift comfortably in my new chair, adjust the pillow behind my head, and resume my book in peace.