Like. Why Do I Still Have This Chair, God?
When I was 5, my grandma had this chair. The phone chair. I called it the phone chair, because it was in the phone room. Other contents of the phone room included, but were also limited to: um. a side table with a phone on it. And also a closet were my grandma kept puzzles and dominoes.
Now, I say “when I was 5” because that’s my earliest memory of sitting in the phone chair and dialing 9-1-1 to “see what happens.”
So fast forward 9 or 10 years, when I show up at my grandma’s house only to discover she has replaced the contents on the phone room with a daybed. Apparently in 1997, phones don’t have cords and no longer necessitate their own room.
Dude, Gran. WTF? Where’s the phone chair? WHERE IS THE PHONE CHAIR?? I CAN NOT LIVE WITHOUT THE PHONE CHAIR! GIVE ME THE PHONE CHAIR NOOOOOW!
I’ve had the fucking phone chair in my possession since then. Let me describe the phone chair in more detail.
The Phone Chair:
- Is a wine-colored velour-carpet-polymix chaise lounge
- Was handcrafted by real Mormons Amish in 1978ish
- That last bullet point is complete made up bullshit.
- Was actually made by elves in Santa’s workshop and delivered to my Grandma on Christmas 1982, just a few months before I was born.
- A note found attached to the phone chair read: “Your grand-daughter will be named Taylor. And carry the burden of this chair for ETERNITY. PS- This chair would look great in your phone room.”
I can’t say anything other than I hate this chair more than… I can’t think of anything…. I hate this chair more than I hate people who torture kittens.
I don’t know why I still have this chair. Every time anyone in my family visits this comment is uttered in some form: “Wow. You still have that chair. Why?”
Why? Because it’s the phone chair, and I LOVE it. I know just said I hate the phone chair more than kitten torturers, but I’m a complicated woman. Get used to it.
Over the years, the phone chair has been a very useful place to store… books, laundry, stuff. Never a very useful place to sit. In compact living spaces, I’ve never found a non-awkward place for the phone chair, I guess that’s why it had it’s very own room at Gran’s. So I always crammed it somewhere in my bedroom. It’s managed to make an appearance in the living room at my current place, but I’m about to move it into the bedroom. Where it FUCKING belongs.
One other thing about the phone chair, it magnetically attracts dogs. It’s like, electrons and spin-states. Don’t ask me, what do I look like, a scientist?
The reason I’ve always put “stuff” on the phone chair is because if I don’t, every time I turn around there’s a dog or two stuck to it.
Last week I had my laptop bag and the Roboraptor on call as demagnetizers.
So… That worked really well.
Way to go, robot dinosaur! You don’t do laundry, and now you’ve also proved a completely worthless watchrobotdinosaur.
Yes. You’re very cute. Now QUIT GETTING MY SHIT FURRY.
The funny thing is, the Roboraptor has remained on the phone chair all week. No one seems to mind. Daisy doesn’t mind. The roboraptor doesn’t mind. Everyone is perfectly content getting the phone chair all fuzzy.
They’ve discussed the weather…
Made silly faces at one another…
But seriously. I’m moving the phone chair to the foot of by bed where it belongs and covering it with laundry.
BURDENED FOR ETERNITY.
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