soapboxdiner

Chromophillic Fung Shui

Bro is supposed to be coming to pick us up to head up to the snow for some fine white powder crushing ala the fluorescent pink saucer sled. This would excite me, except Sunday is chore and errand day, and I got lost yesterday so didn't do a dang thing productive of household hygiene. Well, unless you count cursing loudly as I re-boxed all the Christmas stuff that I brought out of storage in November and sat against the wall in the living room until early January.

I did, however, whip out some power tools and fix the broken Lazy Boy. Allow me to paint you a picture of the Lazy Boy. I believe it left the assemby lines of Lazy Franchises Inc. (tm) to the tune of Come On, Get Happy! It wouldn't surprise me if it left the warehouse in a truck bearing a striking resemblance to this:

Once upon a time, That Girl and Archie Bunker probably could have been found scratching the eyes out of each other's head for just one shot at populating their respective dens with this burnt orange beauty. But it wouldn't have done them any good, because it's MINE, all mine. Well now it is, anyway.

To say this chair is hideous could by some be deemed as accurate, but not very imaginative or entertaining. There are many reasons it could be deemed hideous, the least of which being that the lucky devils before me watched too many late night infomercials wherein the magic of Liquid Leather upholstery repair kits teased them into fits of Lazy Boy fabric fixing euphoria.

Now, this chair has been a family heirloom since the time Steven was only a twinkle in my uncontracepted ovarian eye. It has lived with me and seen the best and worst of times, and probably more than one x-rated episode. And yet, through it all, it's mechanations remained strong and viable. This is why we love the Lazy Boy.

When I went to NC this past spring, my brother inherited this prize possession along with the rest of the household furnishings. In three short months, his Manliness saw fit to host the most House Quakingest party on the Lazy Boy's tired overstuffed burnt orange ass planter. Sadly, it succumbed to its final test of indurance, and it's internal wooden supports cracked and landed pitifully on the forest green and gray variegated carpetting.

Can I get a moment of silence for the Lazy Boy, please?

But out of love for my truest and best life long friend, I kept it as the living room coat and purse collector. Do you all have one of these? I say, why go with a sleek and space conscious coat rack when you have a monstrous Lazy Boy of Edith Ann-ian proportions to perform the function for you? Can I get an amen?

So yesterday, I wondered why in the world Step Dad didn't take his power drill home with him when he was fixing the awning last week, but instead left it sitting smuggly on the living room floor. Well, naturally, he must have left it so I could get a wild hair and want to fix my beloved Lazy Boy, right? And so, I turn the eye-searing behemoth over and screwed down every last questionably wiggly wood piece in sight.

And la-tee-dah, darlings. My living room is once again up to Better Homes & Gardens standards.

I just wish that I still had those metalic copper painted mini blinds. I mean, can you have an orange and green color pallet without copper blinds?

Where is that Bro?

9:36 am - 01.12.03
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