The Chair Fiasco

To avoid potential lawsuits, I make sure to tell everyone who enters my dojo that several of the chairs provided were rescued from the alley and were not actually made for sitting slash adjusting your weight on.  Par instance, there is a leather arm chair whose springs have come through the seat and threaten to leave the mark of Zorro on any ass blind enough to sit in it.  And then there is the very dangerous pink chair, whose wrath I felt first hand when I last changed a light bulb.  The connects of the chair are loose, and if too much pressure is placed toward the back, it will break in two.  They’re the most beautiful chairs, though.  I can’t get rid of them, and I was thinking that I’d do the place up like a historical home, putting signs on everything that say, “please do not touch or sit on the furniture”.  But this is what actually happened:

I had a fete last night.

  • WHO: five or so old friends from school days
  • WHY: sometimes, when there’s no alcohol, I invite people over in the hopes that they’ll bring it
  • WHAT IT TURNED INTO: debauchery and haircuts

Everything is just dandy, save for a few items that rustled my feathers in all the wrong places.  Number one – there was a skit on SNL a while back about the drunk girl.  She’s at my party.  “You know what I like about you?  We got the same name…Huuhhhh.”  Number two – the sober girl is also at my party, and making comments about my dog.  “My aunt has a dog just like that, only he’s black.  Does he have enough water?  I think he needs more water.”  Oh, excuse me, Dog Whisperer.  The Maltese breed only comes in white.  It’s a showdog with fucking papers.  And I think I’ve had the water situation covered for about the last four years.

All of this is beside the point.  The point is that I left the house for a cigarette run, and when I came back my pink chair was broken.  I think the problem with warning people about the chair is that I don’t include what will happen when you actually do break it.  Firstly – I will go crazy.  Only after this will I explain that you need to make an immediate trip to the Home Depot for wood glue and nails.  I’m not running a museum for deconstructionalist abstract chair art.  Given that I have put somewhere around two hours five minutes into sanding, painting, and explaining the unsteadiness of said chair, I feel it is only fair that whoever breaks it should put the same amount of time into repairing it.

What We Have Learned:

  • chairs aren’t always for sitting
  • listen to your hostess
  • the care of my dog is up to me as his owner
  • there’s no such thing as a free drink