Was ever a sadder tale than that of star-crossed lovers? Romeo and Juliet, Rhett and Scarlett, Frankie and Johnnie, to name a scant few.
But take heart, all ye romantics, for there is a poignant love affair that transcends the sorrow of novel and rhyme to endure. To wit, that of a man and his chair.
You all know whereof I speak. Who among you has not lived with or known personally a man who didn’t have a chair he desired above all others? Whether high-backed chair or recliner lounge, whether warmest cloth or finest leather, the story is the same, unconditional respite. The welcoming comfort of a time worn chair provides unremitting solace and soothes yet the most savage beast. Ne’er a kingly throne was better fitted than the favorite chair of a wearied man.
Whether for literary perusal, urging on his best-loved team or a time-honored snooze, the chair beckons with its siren song of repose. It never questions, never judges and above all, never, ever falters from its universal charge as an oasis amid the burning desert of work and worry.
Not even the most harsh and disagreeable commands from on high can diminish its ardor. Though cacophonous echos of “please take out the garbage” or “time to walk the dogs” or “get ready, we have company coming” oft disrupt this march toward nirvana, he knows in his heart that all in good time he will soon reunite with that entity that is at once his good fortune and his due.
Time passes, continents shift and heavens expand, but this persists: that a man and his chair will never part.