It Must be Love...
Anyhoo, this post is not dedicated to Fred…it’s to the chair he’s sitting in…it’s his chair. Or rather, it used to be my chair. It occupies the study in our home. I reincarnated it nearly two years ago when I lived in Washington DC. I was trolling up 14th Street when I noticed this store of really used furniture and decided to enter. Now, my culture, insecurities, superstitiousness and all-round “old bruk” phobia usually prevents me from buying anything used, previously worn and any generally “otherlifely” objects. But this retro/1970s-looking lime-green chair kept calling to me. The man with the Nigerian accent at the door started out at $120--all his 10 thousand pearly whites on display. I soon displayed my twenty thousand red-wine tinted whites and we came to an understanding that the lime-green number should be mine for $80.
A long story short: I went to the DC Design Center to check out fabrics, called an upholsterer who charged way too much (I hadn’t done my homework) and before you know it the lime-green number exceeded all my previously held expectations, superstitions and phobias. Now after my inspired and beautifully designed chair survived a transatlantic trip and two crazy Flemmish delivery men why should I allow Fred to claim the chair as his? Sigh...it must be love.
This is my destructive angel: his name is Fred…Freddie…Freddilicious on a day when he’s well-behaved. His hobbies: eating from the garbage can, eating from the laundry basket, eating from the kitchen counter-top, eating from his dinner bowl, our dinner plates or drinking glasses or desktops…eating…eating…eating. Fred’s a gourmand or just plain greedy if I’m honest but my love for the little thing destroys my ability to properly train him.
Anyhoo, this post is not dedicated to Fred…it’s to the chair he’s sitting in…it’s his chair. Or rather, it used to be my chair. It occupies the study in our home. I reincarnated it nearly two years ago when I lived in Washington DC. I was trolling up 14th Street when I noticed this store of really used furniture and decided to enter. Now, my culture, insecurities, superstitiousness and all-round “old bruk” phobia usually prevents me from buying anything used, previously worn and any generally “otherlifely” objects. But this retro/1970s-looking lime-green chair kept calling to me. The man with the Nigerian accent at the door started out at $120--all his 10 thousand pearly whites on display. I soon displayed my twenty thousand red-wine tinted whites and we came to an understanding that the lime-green number should be mine for $80.
A long story short: I went to the DC Design Center to check out fabrics, called an upholsterer who charged way too much (I hadn’t done my homework) and before you know it the lime-green number exceeded all my previously held expectations, superstitions and phobias. Now after my inspired and beautifully designed chair survived a transatlantic trip and two crazy Flemmish delivery men why should I allow Fred to claim the chair as his? Sigh...it must be love.
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