A New Chair
Over the last few months we have acquired a couch, a bookcase and a couple of tables.
We didn’t need any of it.
On Saturday, as I let the dogs out, or in, I noticed that we had also acquired a chair. It was plopped down on our backup kitchen table that we keep beside one of our many backup television sets.
It’s an ugly chair.
One of those crooked chairs that a psychiatrist might put you in if he were trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with your mind.
“Where’d this thing come from?” I yelled up the stairs.
“What is it?” Kathy asked.
“I don’t know. It looks like a half chair, half lawn furniture.”
“Oh! That’s ours. My sister was getting rid of it, I said we could use it.”
“For what?” I asked. “Neither one of us could use it unless we fell on it.”
“You never know,” she said.
I just started laughing.
“Maybe someone will need it,” she said.
I laughed harder.
“Who would need that?”
“Stop. You’re making me sound like a hoarder.”
That’s exactly what is going on here. We have a room that is filled with every article of clothing that the kids ever wore. There are Barney tapes down there, board games, old gaming systems, dvds, cds, televisions, tables, chairs.
“One day I’m going to have to rent a dumpster to get rid of all of this.”
“You don’t think anyone will use that chair?”
I thought back to my earlier description of it.
A good spot to put someone while the psychiatrist is trying to decipher what’s wrong with the mind.
“You should sit on it,” I said. “Maybe someone like Freud could pop over and see what the hell is wrong with you.”
If you have anything to give away...
...don’t talk to my wife, please.
That room is full.
We didn’t need any of it.
On Saturday, as I let the dogs out, or in, I noticed that we had also acquired a chair. It was plopped down on our backup kitchen table that we keep beside one of our many backup television sets.
It’s an ugly chair.
One of those crooked chairs that a psychiatrist might put you in if he were trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with your mind.
“Where’d this thing come from?” I yelled up the stairs.
“What is it?” Kathy asked.
“I don’t know. It looks like a half chair, half lawn furniture.”
“Oh! That’s ours. My sister was getting rid of it, I said we could use it.”
“For what?” I asked. “Neither one of us could use it unless we fell on it.”
“You never know,” she said.
I just started laughing.
“Maybe someone will need it,” she said.
I laughed harder.
“Who would need that?”
“Stop. You’re making me sound like a hoarder.”
That’s exactly what is going on here. We have a room that is filled with every article of clothing that the kids ever wore. There are Barney tapes down there, board games, old gaming systems, dvds, cds, televisions, tables, chairs.
“One day I’m going to have to rent a dumpster to get rid of all of this.”
“You don’t think anyone will use that chair?”
I thought back to my earlier description of it.
A good spot to put someone while the psychiatrist is trying to decipher what’s wrong with the mind.
“You should sit on it,” I said. “Maybe someone like Freud could pop over and see what the hell is wrong with you.”
If you have anything to give away...
...don’t talk to my wife, please.
That room is full.
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