I’ve never been a big believer in fine furniture. I like to sit on my chairs and couches, walk on my rugs and put food and drinks on the end tables. Consequently, my furniture is not always the most attractive or the nicest, but I at least am familiar with it. I’m not sure I can say the same for Roy after this weekend.
My good, overstuffed rocker, which matched Roy’s, had finally given up the fight. While Roy’s chair held up well, mine had slowly, gradually broken down over the years. I tend to sleep in it when I’m having a restless night and working as a pseudo-bed for a woman my size had caused it to send in its resignation by dropping closer and closer to the floor while spitting mysterious bolts out of every orifice. When it began to overturn randomly and spill me onto the floor, I knew it was time to find something else.
I brought up the idea one night when Roy was tired from working late and not in the mood to discuss furnishings.
“I need a new chair,” I said as he was shoveling in his supper in a hurry.
“There’s nothing wrong with my chair,” he answered in a distracted fashion, tuning in to the news.
“I know that. It’s my chair,” I answered testily.
“Your chair is fine,” he was no longer interested in the subject, I could tell.
“My chair is a broken-down ride at the amusement park from hell,” I whined. “It tips and rocks and dumps me out in the middle of the ride. I need something new.”
“Fine, go ahead, go shopping,” he muttered, his mind on the newspaper now in front of him.
It was what I had been waiting to hear. I was being turned loose with the family checkbook and permission to get extravagant. Okay, okay, so he never said get extravagant, but I can interpret it any way I want, right? It was time to be bold.
I looked and considered several dozen chairs at the store. I made the salesman a little edgy I think, because I kept going from chair to chair, searching for the perfect one. I know nothing about chairs so I kept asking questions like, “How much weight does the foot rest on this one hold? I have fat feet you know.” On the leather one, I inquired, “How many cows died in order for this chair to live?”
Finally, I found it. It was the perfect chair. It was dark brown, plush, overstuffed and had a foot rest that I could actually operate. The problem? It was a little expensive. Okay, it was very expensive. But it was the one I wanted, so I shut my eyes and got it.
Roy was still busy so I didn’t bother him with little things like the price or the fact that I had to haul it home. I put it in the pickup (or rather, they did) and I drove on my merry way home. But while I was at the store, I picked up a large, very pretty cover for my ugly old couch and brought that home at the same time.
By swearing, sweating and sometimes dragging the thing, I managed to get the chair into the living room and all set up. It looked beautiful…expensive, but beautiful. Then, for good measure, I put the new cover on the couch and it looked pretty good too. Then I sat down to wait for Roy to come home and admire my new chair.
I was honest; I met him at the door and told him the price first thing. “How much?” he hollered, “that’s ridiculous.”
He was still blustering when he walked into the living room. He walked right by my brand new chair and ran his hands over the new cover on the old couch.
“Oh, this is really nice,” he said. “I thought you were getting a chair, but this is really a bargain for a couch.”
And now for my dilemma: Do I tell him the truth or do I just sit in my expensive new chair and let it go?