Is there a diagnosis for people who have a fatal attachment to a piece of furniture? It can’t be normal. Here’s my story.
I’ve owned a certain upholstered chair for forty years. My ex-husband and I bought it when our kids were young. It’s a sturdy, comfortable chair made by a venerable New England company. As soon as it began its life with us, children tumbled over it, cats curled up in it, photos were posed for in it.
Now the husband is long gone and the children are grown, and most of the other furniture has been replaced; but I still have the chair. I’ve watched TV in it, read books in it, taken naps in it, gazed up at the moon through the window above it. In other words, the chair and I have a bit of a relationship.
It’s still as sturdy and comfortable as ever, but the fabric is threadbare in spots. And it’s kind of retro-looking. I took a good look at it one day and realized the time had finally come to make a decision. Reupholster it, or get a new chair. A nice leather recliner maybe? Something in tune with the times. After letting the idea percolate for quite a while, I finally decided to take the bull by the horns.
It was going to cost about the same to reupholster as to replace, which made this difficult decision even more difficult, but, in a fit of determination, I went to the Lazy-Boy Store and ordered a new custom-made leather recliner. Out with the old, in with the new! I would give my trusty old chair to a local charity. It was going to take 6-8 weeks for the recliner to be ready, so I’d have time to take a few more naps, read a few more books. Say good-bye.
The Lazy-Boy sales rep called me yesterday. The recliner is on the way from the factory. A month ahead of schedule! The moment of truth is at hand. Will I like it? Will deciding to get rid of the chair have been a big mistake? And if so, will life go on? See what I mean about diagnosis? I’ve let go of a husband, several boyfriends and numerous relatives. Why is it so hard to let go of a chair?