Maybe this will make me a more productive person, but I doubt it.
I finally purchased a chair to replace my old desk chair. This guy over here was still comfortable, but its faux-leather exterior had started to flake long ago and I suppose the past few months could be summed up as merely tolerating the chair’s proclivity for shedding pieces of itself all over the living room floor. Some time soon, I will push Madison in it across the street to the dumpster where I unceremoniously toss him into the green abyss, never to return.
It must be said that Lynnette was the primary motivator for such a swift move. We saw the replacement chair in Costco and I sat in it for about 5 seconds before Lynnette implored me to just get it, already. She said she was tired of seeing the dark snowflakes litter our living room floor. Most notably, they were often confused for pieces of dog feces upon our return home. In retrospect, it is a minor miracle that Lynnette or Madison or myself did not sprain an ankle or blow out a knee from trying to alter our steps in an act of last-minute evasion of these would-be, could-be non-turds. I had been vacuuming them up every two days or so, but Lynnette was right: it was getting old. I think had the chair been an a more suitable environment – air conditioning, used by a man who wore pants and a shirt – it might have had a longer life. Sadly, its owner was partial to wearing just the boxers and consequently thigh and back sweat played a major role in its untimely demise. My bad.
The new chair looks promising. It does not wear a fake leather jacket. In fact, its comfort comes from tension. The see-through should also be heat-through and my sweat (from working so hard, obviously) should not adversely affect the chair nearly so much as its predecessor.
I got into it after my beautiful wife put it together yesterday afternoon. Editor’s Note: Phil is not the kind of guy who makes his pregnant wife assemble a desk chair. Lynnette wanted to assemble the desk chair because 1) she’s handy and likes to show it off, and 2) she was – in her words – “So, like, over this stupid chair.” I leaned back and stretched it out. When Madison got into to give it a test drive, she was upset that she could not lean back in it. “How come it won’t go back for me” she said. “Well, I think that’s because only-” Lynnette began. She made eye contact with me. “…adults can make it lean back.” Good save, wife.