You see, there's this huge, or as Regis would say, YUUUUUUGE, height difference between me and The Good Doctor. I'm 5' 1.75." He is 6' 5.5." If we want to get all exact and shit.
So a chair that fits me, where my feet rest on the floor, and I don't feel all swallowed up by cushions and a deep seat that makes me look like Webster...is a chair that makes The Good Doctor feel like his knees are up to his chest and he's about to start coloring with the kids right before show and tell.
There's no happy medium. But when it comes to furniture, any good husband knows, you defer! To your WIFE.
Not that he has to live his life standing or lying down when we're at home, but we're talking about an accent chair here. One for me to sit in while breastfeeding in our bedroom. One that doesn't crowd the lovely distressed dresser we just bought. And by distressed I mean termite damaged. But hey, what's the adventure in buying everything new? There's no excitement like putting all your clothes in a giant piece of furniture and hoping you don't pull them out to discover all the crotches in your pants have been chewed out.
Where was I? Right, we needed a chair for the bedroom, because I'm trying to grow up a little and The Good Doctor's gigantic chair from his college days, made of the finest black 'leatherette,' just isn't cutting it. But of course, he is reluctant to part with his favorite chair, and he wants to have "input" so my chair search becomes a city council meeting. Lots of talk, little action.
The process would be fine if it was a car or stove or Big Ticket Item we both use a lot. But he never sits in the chair in our room. He just dives onto the bed immediately when he walks in, then flails about until I come and jump on his back and crush him and inhale the vapors from his neck. Another reason I'm like, "Why do you care about my chair again?"
So after going to Target, and Costco, and Cost Plus, and looking at seriously, 2,000 chairs online (The Good Doctor presented the laptop with multiple windows layered on top of each other for my viewing convenience), I finally collapse at Pier One next to this chair and go, "For the love of God, please let me buy this for our room."
He was like, "All right, whatever. But it's not the most comfortable." And skips away with Emmy to feel the Santa beards. Leaving me and my dramatic self all drained of energy from battling over what chair to buy after 3 weeks of looking.
I agree, it scores higher in looks than comfort. What woman hasn't made that concession many a time before. With chairs and men. But I promise, Good Doctor, when we actually have a place that's our own and we want real furniture, we will get a GIANT comfy chair with footrests and headrests and armrests and cupholders and whatever you want!
For now, thank you for letting me have my divine chair that is so pretty I still have it in the living room under the skylight just so I can ogle it. Nevermind that it's a dining chair. The price was right, it fits the space in our room, and that pilllow is freaking awesome.