THE DAY I TURNED 90...
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.”
“No way!”
“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.
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.”
“No way!”
“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.
Comments
Hello, my name is Lisa, and I also write in a recliner.
This is where you chorus, "Hi, Lisa."
For the record, they are really comfortable for writing, but there was one day when we were working on revisions that I think I was probably horizontal for 10 hours. That was sad.
It looks like a great place to read, write and just be comfortable.
Now I have recliner envy. That looks like the kind of chair you could get a full night's sleep in. Love the clock-face end table too...
"Hi, Lisa." Okay, now that that's out of the way, I'm picturing lying in your chair for 10 hours with a Costco sized tub of Twizzlers tucked in beside you. (Or does Costco only do Red Vines? *sigh*)
Patti - I have to say, I do love it. I'm restless, so I alternate between the chair and my desk, but it's so much better than trying to get comfortable on the couch (especially with the kids running around)!
Christy - Right? I look good for 90! And the clock totally works...when I remember to put batteries in. The mini-fridge won't be able to tell me what time it is.
We have one that looks almost exactly like that. It's the most comfortable chair in the house and I love it. But I still write on the old couch in the basement because we can't get the wireless signal to work in the comfy-chair room. :(
If I weren't so addicted to wireless...
Love the demo pic too!
Maybe it's not so bad....