Six

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My in-laws gave us this chair when they upgraded their furniture a few years ago. It’s faux leather, and it began peeling off not long after we got it. Add three children to that situation and it was soon completely bald in spots. But we kept it, mainly because I am incapable of throwing away a “perfectly good” anything. “You can still sit on it! Therefore, we must keep it.” 

On Monday, I put it out on our curb, which happens to be on the corner of our pretty busy neighborhood. My husband made fun of me, knowing that no one in their right mind would take this piece of junk furniture home. The trash man came and went, leaving the chair behind. (I knew he would- we only have “big trash” days twice a year.) It stayed there all night. It stayed there for most of the day on Tuesday, but when I went to pick up my boys from school, I noticed it was gone. I texted my husband, and he said he hadn’t moved it to the backyard, like he’d threatened. So I was right- someone couldn’t pass up such a good deal. 

However, the chair was back in our yard this morning. Minus the chair legs. 

So stay with me: someone stopped, maneuvered the chair into their vehicle, took it home, realized it wasn’t going to work and then brought it back? Really? But they kept the legs?? Really??!!

Now here’s where it gets really weird. This chair has revealed to me one of my deepest fears: that the people I love will someday realize that I’m not what they thought I was and they’ll kick me to the curb. Or return me to the curb, as it were. 

What if I stop being my husband’s favorite person? What if the scales fall from his eyes and he realizes I’m no beauty at all, and that I sweat like a pig (not “glow”), and that my teeth are yellow and crooked again, and that I’ve gained weight steadily for a while now, and…

I’ve got issues. And they’re bigger than a crappy chair in my front yard. 

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One thought on “Six

  1. Pingback: Nine | numbered days

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