The wicker chair conundrum

December 12, 2012 at 10:50 am (Things I Want) ()

When I was young, my neighbors had a wicker chair. It was so cool. It was the best chair ever. I wanted that chair SO BAD. I couldn’t wait to become a grownup so I could buy my very own wicker chair.

Ta-da!

Ta-da!

(For some reason, my parents didn’t want one.)

That wicker chair sat in my neighbors’ living room like some grand, magnificent creature. A veritable peacock among chairs! Their couch and recliner practically curdled up in envy.

Ta-da!

I said: Ta-da!

Oh, how I wanted a wicker chair. In fact, ALL the wicker chairs!

Including you, preciousssssss.

Including you, preciousssssss.

“Can I sit on it?” I asked my neighbors, my greedy little eyes absorbing all the beauty of that wondrous seating apparatus.

“Oh, God, no,” they said.

My heart broke a little that day, but I burned with a new resolve: To save up all the moneys and buy my own wicker chair and then I would put it in our living room and maybe watch a little TV while sitting in it, but mostly just look cool and have my family envy me.

Including you, preciousssssss.

They’d be so jealous.

“Sure, honey,” said my mother in a voice that didn’t sound particularly envious, but probably she was just hiding it.

And the day finally came. I saved up ten whole dollars, and she agreed to take me to the import store. And there — lo and behold — was a wicker chair. Maybe not as awe-inspiring as my neighbors’, but still.

Ta-da!

Ta-da a third time!

It was, indeed, out of my price range, but I figured I could talk my mother into spotting me the rest of the money. And so I decided to take a test sit.

Now, mind you, I was not a particularly pudgy child. In fact, most people would have described me as “underweight,” once they got tired of using the word “scrawny.”

So I sat in the chair of my dreams.

“Crunch,” it said.

"What was that sound, Mom? Was that the sound of my dreams dying?"

“What was that sound, Mom? Was that the sound of my dreams dying?”

“Quick, let’s run,” my mother said.

And that’s the story of why I still don’t have a wicker chair.

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