Eames and Shoots

My dream recliner, not the one we bought.

We are redecorating our living room. Slowly, but surely, getting the bits and pieces we need.

It started a couple of months ago while we were watching Breaking Bad and Pup was squirming away on his end of the sectional.

"Babe, I miss my recliners," he said.

"You mean from the white marshmallow couch," I said? (Retired into pieces in various rooms.)

"A man needs his recliners."

I looked over at him. At his big-manness and his uncomfortable repose.

"Can we look for a recliner that doesn't lose small children and pets in its cushions? One that is a bit sleeker for my eyes," I say?

Does a hockey player wear a nutcup?

So, I was off on my hunt for the perfect recliner.

Found one, we ordered it, it took WEEKS to be delivered. It was a pile. A sorry pile. When Pup sat in it we could just tell it wouldn't last through football season.

sigh

Back it went with a bit of whining from me to the customer service team that guys that like recliners generally don't weigh 150 pounds and what was the point of a dainty recliner? She didn't laugh.

So, off the two of us go to find the perfect recliner.

We trotted off to furniture stores. Many furniture stores. We were getting crabby. The chairs he was loving were so very very POOFY. Large smushy arms perfect for resting snacks on. Large squishy seats for napping.

The chairs I was loving were not right.

"Oh look baby"! He has spotted something.

"This one has CUP HOLDERS right in the arms"! His eyes were shining with happiness. He was immediately reclined in the cupholder-chair and dangerously close to nodding off. Or was I dangerously close to bumping him off? Kidding . . . I think.

"Oh my friggin' god Pup! I can't have furniture with CUPHOLDERS! You want to turn our living room into an SUV"!

A standoff.

He's Pup-pouting. I'm pouting. We're now beyond crabby.

Again I say, "You need a man-den." It's true. Our house is just one little room too small.

So, off to chi-chi furniture store, where I, of course, find a perfect chair. In my eyes. Pup isn't seeing it that way.

"Babe, it's $2,300. I am not paying $2,300 for a RECLINER"!

"Sweetie, furniture costs money."

"The cupholder chair was only $1000"!

I stare at him with guns in my eyes.

Smarmy salesman runs over with leather samples. Oblivious to the malevolence snapping in the air like lightening.

So, off we go to another furniture store. Where, a few weeks ago, we had found the perfect couch with no arguing. And where a few recliners had been rejected outright by both of us.

We walk around the store, tired and CRABBY.

Pup remembers a chair that he rejected back then. He pulls me like an unruly child to the recliner.

We both stand there looking at it. Why had it been rejected before? It's great. We can pick our leather. And get this . . .

we both fit in it! We can watch and recline together. Or he can recline alone in man-glory.

I'm as happy as a dog licking his balls.