A True Story About A Chair

After I bought my first home, I did not have much in the way of seating. I had a couch and a big leather La-Z-Boy, which was perfect for just me and him and the cat, but not so perfect if I wanted to have a party¹. I wanted to purchase a chair or two that I could stick in a closet and set out when all of my friends² came over to hang out with me.

Before long, I found an adorable wooden dining chair online, painted black with a subtle gold stencil design on the back. The seller had placed the product in the middle of a lush green field, surrounded by pretty flowers and framed artistically by a setting sun off in the distance, for the website photo. On sale for just $35 and located relatively nearby (so the shipping wouldn’t be exorbitant), I was sold and excitedly placed my order.

I waited by the door each day³, wringing my hands nervously in anticipation of The Chair’s arrival.

Will it be as pretty as it is in the picture? I thought to myself.

Will the gold fleur-de-lis stencil design be subtle enough for my demure and understated living room decor? I thought to myself.

Will I have to stick a sugar packet under one of the chair legs? I thought to myself.

Finally, The Chair came. The UPS dude rang my doorbell and I galloped toward the door with the speed and finesse of a filly, my mane blowing behind me in the wind. I wrenched open the door with my
hoof hand. I inhaled sharply.

Is this some kind of sick joke? I thought to myself.

Standing before me was the delivery man, holding my package (that’s what she said), as I expected. But something had clearly gone awry.

The package was way too small (she said it again) for The Chair to possibly fit inside.

“Thank you for your trouble, sir,” I stammered, tears rushing to my eyes.

“It was no trouble at all, m’lady,” the UPS guy said. He reached out and dabbed my cheeks with his hanky.

I took his package into my hands (I could do this all day) and closed the door.

Perhaps there’s some assembly required, I thought to myself. Or perhaps this isn’t The Chair at all! Maybe one of my adoring fans sent me a gift!

My spirits temporarily renewed, I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut open the box. Inside, cushioned neatly betwixt layer after layer of bubble wrap, was the tiniest chair I have ever seen.

The Chair shown next to famous actor Danny DeVito for scale.

The subtle fleur-de-lis stenciling was about the size of my fingernail. The chair legs might as well’ve been toothpicks. Since that fateful afternoon, when my hopes and dreams to one day own an adorable black kitchen chair that would be used very rarely were smashed to bits, I have managed to recover.

¹I had somewhere between zero and one party while living in that house.
²I have somewhere between zero and two friends.
³Exaggerated for dramatic effect. I actually had a riveting⁴ job at the time and likely worked each day, although I don’t remember exactly.
⁴By ‘riveting’ I really mean ‘soul-crushingly horrible’.