As the last year whizzes into the distance, I’m called to offer thanks to those chairs I’ve sat on over the previous twelve months.
Some were rigid (they helped me get on with tasks because they were uncomfortable). Others, with velvet covers and multiple cushions, encouraged me to lounge and rest. If you are a chair, and I’ve sat on you, you might recognize yourself in one of the descriptions below.
You were beautiful, but not comfortable. This helps me recognize life’s lessons, even though difficult, offer beauty. You sat in my apartment, adding an up-to-date appeal that many visitors admired. I didn’t enjoy sitting on you, it’s true. Your designers didn’t think about making you usable. But, as window-dressing, you did a fabulous job.
To be fair, I did pull you from the rubbish dump, so it’s no wonder your seat was coming away from your frame. Nonetheless, despite this obvious fault, you maintained your position in the sand on many beach visits. Without you, I would have sat on a damp towel.
Number 259, you did just what you were built for. You let me sit, but didn’t make me want to stay when the game finished. There was gum on your underside, and someone kept kicking you from behind. However, I’m glad you were my chair for a short while.
Pretty meadow chair
I couldn’t believe my luck when I found you in the meadow on that lovely spring day. I wanted to relax and listen to the birds sing, and you were just what I needed. Your padded seat added to my comfort. I must say, even though you aren’t a Parker-Knoll, your presence was most welcome.
Credit where it’s due, you were there for me when I had my tooth pulled out. I relaxed back into you, but never completely rested. Don’t get me wrong, you were comfy, in your own way. The problem was I don’t like having my teeth pulled, and it detracted from the moment somewhat. But thank you anyway.
Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite. Soft and inviting, you held me through several bad movies, and made life easier when I had to remain seated for hours during a phone call from Aunt Agatha, who insisted on telling me about her piles. I guess her chair isn’t as wonderful as you.
Dear chairs, I appreciate you one and all. Some more than others. But life wouldn’t be the same without any of you.
Copyright © 2020 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved