After being informed that I must throw caution to the wind and thrust myself out into the world of social media, I was left speechless at the thought of writing a “blog.” A blog? I had no idea what a blog was until I Googled it. Now I had a definition, but did I have what it takes to record my random thoughts each week as was expected of me? Although I wanted to tuck tail and pretend that I never heard the mandate from my social media guru, I knew I’d have to submit eventually.
It was with that, I warmed up my blogging muscles and practiced. My target? My beloved husband. Why is it here today? Well…just because I can. Well, that and Michelle dared me to. So here it goes – Random Thoughts à la Veronica.
My beloved husband was so effective with his advertisement to sell our bar stools that mine was still warm as it walked out the door yesterday. Although I am grateful that the stools are no longer damaging our floor, I am now at a loss until we bring home the new pair at the end of the month.
Some, who are familiar with our house, might question why I wouldn’t just sit in my home office and continue working in comfort. The answer is that my home office currently looks like a lost battle between the Tasmanian Devil and a heavy metal singer with turrets. Hence, I can’t seem to feel creative while surrounded by the muck and mire of the day-to-day that has accumulated in that area. Clean it? Organize it? Yes, that would be ideal but, at the moment, the sheer enormity of the task has defeated me yet again.
My office is also a cold and lonely place and I cannot seem to find the right temperature down there at any time of year. The result is that I must spend many working hours with a frozen mouse hand. If a teenage lad read that statement, he would probably say, “Cool! Then it’s like a stranger doing it!” Not so “cool” for me, young man. Maybe I should cut the fingers off of some dollar store gloves, wrap myself in a parka and just tough it out. Maybe…but for now, I prefer to sit upstairs where I have the luxury of looking over my shoulder at my beautiful sleeping puppies, or gazing out the window and revelling in the antics of the drunken Newfie across the street.
Now that I have justified sitting at our breakfast bar, I should tell you about “the chair.” Although I spend my days sitting, my angel – the love of my life – was so kind to bring home a stool from his office shop. Not just any stool – his stool. His work chair. He gave up his chair for me. He gave up his chair for me so that I am able to continue with my creative endeavours in a more appealing environment. He gave up his chair for me because…well…because he is a saint of the modern world. Yet another reason this man blesses me daily.
The chair is a simple style that, although rather unattractive, seems harmless and borderline inviting. I’ve been sitting in this chair for about an hour now and I must report that its appearance has deceived me in so many unexpected ways.
- It is slightly too short which causes tiny needle-like pangs of pain to shoot up and down my arms from my shoulders.
- The back rest is at an angle that supports my lumbar the same way that an axe would assist a redwood in falling.
- The seat is a generous depth for those whose inseam does not exceed twelve inches (therefore my three month old granddaughter would be in the lap of luxury right now).
- The thin rod used as a foot support covers a small enough area on the balls of my feet that they feel as though they have been wrapped around a steel pencil for a week.
- The rapidly forming clots in the backs of my thighs are quite a unique feeling that is in direct competition to be the most painful part of this experience…The award for the most excruciating aspect of this chair must go to the feeling of rectal violation by what must be newly formed hemorrhoids.
So to summarize: “The chair” will undoubtedly become one of the most memorable “firsts” that my husband has allowed me to experience since knowing him. Despite the intensity of this new first, the permanent spasm in my lower back will be a daily reminder of the untold lengths he will go to please me. How could I ever be ungrateful?
Thank you for “the chair” my love.