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The Armchair
I will soon be re-born. It is not of my choosing; however, I have heard the talk. I am not sure of the exact date or what it will feel like, but sense that it will be soon. This causes me to remember all of what I have been through since my creation. Some have been pleasant, some sad, and some downright awful.
I remember what it was like every time someone sat on me. What they said. How they felt. As years wore on, my wooden bones became weaker with a few splinters and many scratches. My fabric has worn down and the edges smoothed over like the skin of a peach.
There is an unfortunate cigarette burn on my left arm from that dreadful teenager Scott who dated our beautiful Marie. It happened, of course, when the parents weren’t home. She got grounded for a week after that one. The burnt wood indentation still smarts.
Then there was grandpa who would sit and watch football for hours and holler, “Hey Ref, get some glasses! Can’t you see that was pass interference?” His wife, Sadie must have weighed three hundred pounds. My, I thought I would break.
Or Aunt Janice, who would drink a pint of vodka in a single sitting and then pass out. Thank goodness she never had a bodily fluid accident. And while we are on that subject, there was that terrible episode when the kids were gone. Mom and Dad decided to enjoy a moment of conjugal bliss spontaneously on…
