We're getting a new chair. It's soft and green with metal (okay, plastic) retro buttons and long arms. We paid the terrifying old clerk who'd chased us around the store with her walker and were told that it would take eight weeks to arrive from Rome. I had clapped my hands and cooed fatuously "oooh, from Rome! Goody, goody!" until I was snidely informed by my companion that she probably meant Rome, NY, dear. At this, I stopped, frowned, and brayed loudly into the showroom, effectively destroying our cultivated "oh, such nice, tall, well mannered people!" image that works so well with the sales community.
Despite my antics, the chair is coming. And I'm left with a dilemma. My army brat years instilled in me a nervous compulsion to keep the status quo regarding possessions. You buy a shirt, you throw a shirt away. Five new pairs of socks in the drawer, a couple of unused dishes in the trash. It's all about weight and volume and most certainly stems from the knowledge that if you buy it now, you'll pack it later, and the next move is right around the corner. Some call it a disorder, I call it efficiency.
So, now we have this thing arriving. Pounds of wood and stuffing and springs (not to mention the Target throw pillows that are bound to follow) that have my scales swinging wildly off balance. Some major paring down is obviously in order. That's a lot of Corporate Challenge tee-shirts and Snoopy mugs.
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