Last weekend, my husband and I went in search of the perfect chair for my office. Not the desk kind that swivels and has the up and down lever, but the other kind…the one that sits in the corner, that you snuggle down into with a blanket so you can read on a cold winter day. It’s plush and it has cushions. It has a matching ottoman and needs its own end table that you can set your laptop and your cup of tea on. You know, that chair.
We scoured the furniture store in search of the perfect one. I tried them all out—in both reading and laptop positions—testing to see which would be the most comfortable. I eyeballed them to see which was the prettiest.
And then we passed it, and my husband said, “Just try it.”
“C’mon. What’ll it hurt to just sit in it?”
I shook my head, staring at it. I would never be that person.
“Just do it,” he practically dared.
I sighed. “Fine. Whatever.” I rolled my eyes and sat down.
And then I pulled the lever, and my feet were propped up at the perfect height, my shoulders supported to exactly the right degree. I glared at my husband. “I hate you.”
I jumped up, refusing to acknowledge that it was, indeed, the perfect chair: The recliner.
It couldn’t be. Recliners are for old people. They’re for lazy people. For unshaven men with beer bellies who scream at their TVs on Sunday.
They aren’t for writers who need back support while they balance their laptops on their knees. Right???
I tried—and re-tried—every single “real” chair in the store, before finally admitting the truth. I had already found the perfect chair.
I grudgingly paid for my chair, refusing to call it what it really was, and forcing my husband to call it a “reading chair” instead. But we all know the truth: I am now a recliner girl.
I have turned 90. I will grow a pot belly and learn to scream obscenities at televised sports. I may even buy a mini-fridge instead of an end table so I no longer have to make that long trek downstairs for…what goes in a mini-fridge anyway? Beer? ‘Lil smokies? Cheese in a can?
But you know what? My back has never felt so supported and my shoulders are loving me!
Besides, it’s not a recliner. It’s a reading chair.