Chairless

The kids are mad at me. I took the big chair away.

With help from Luna, destroyer puppy extraordinaire, the big grey chair in our living room is finally headed for the trash. It’s been on its last legs for some time now - tired and threadbare. Once Luna got hold of a little string on the side, it was all over. She ripped it open like a sack of dog food, exposing all the foamy goodness.

My husband and I dragged the chair out to the garage. I called for it to be picked up on Thursday. The only trouble is: it’s the MOST COMFORTABLE CHAIR IN THE WORLD.

I have to admit, it’s like a giant hug. It’s the only chair in the house you can sink your whole body into. It’s the kind of chair you can flop into and sling your legs up over the side. Last night when I couldn’t sleep, I came downstairs to get a snack, walked to the living room, and immediately missed the comfy chair. I longed for the same chair that has been such a constant eyesore I’ve been just waiting for an excuse to get rid of it. What can I say…it is as comfortable as it is hideous.

It has such an odd shape I’d never attempt to try to sew a cover for it. It’d be ridiculous to reupholster it – it would probably cost three times what we paid for it. I once tried covering it in one of those ready-made slipcovers; it looked as though one of the hippos from Fantasia had been tranquilized and dumped in the middle of my living room.

So now the chair is torn, and so am I. Do I get rid of it, moving forward in the hopes of replacing it someday with a more eye-pleasing (and possibly even more comfy) one? Or do I hang on to it, slap a patch on it, and try to continue to look the other way as I flop myself into its weary but welcoming arms?