How To Get Left Alone

Long ago, in a land far away, before there were stepchildren.

I had this awesome apartment in Hoboken. There was very little in it. Some Ikea furniture and two kitchen chairs I rescued out of the trash. Brick walls, hardwood floors, and ceiling fans.

Endless uninterrupted thoughts. No one eating my cookies. Nobody in the bathroom when I needed to get in there. My world was far smaller and far less rich than it is now, but I was blissfully ignorant of that.

It’s been four and a half years since we got the kids and I moved in with CC. I have almost nothing from that apartment in Hoboken, with two notable exceptions. For some reason, those two kitchen chairs that I saved from the trash remain the sturdiest pieces of furniture in my house.

Just a pair of dinked-up wooden chairs that refuse to die. I sit in one to write. It isn’t terribly comfortable. In my house, we need a lot of chairs. There are a lot of butts.

Lately, I’ve been putting a throw pillow on the seat. I keep thinking I’ll get a chair cushion for it, but really, I can’t be bothered. #4 came in my room recently and noticed.

#4: Why are you sitting on a pillow?

Me: I’ve been trying to lose some weight and I’ve actually lost some and you know, I think my butt just isn’t as cushy as it used to be because there isn’t as much fat on it now? And so the chair sort of hurts? And I use a pillow sometimes?

She looked at me for a long time indicating her regret at ever asking. Then she said, “Why is my family so weird?” and left the room.

Being weird gets you privacy.


5 thoughts on “How To Get Left Alone

  1. I used the other one to prop up my feet while sitting on the leather love seat. You are so right….you are very rich.

  2. I don’t understand the whole “losing weight” thing. From what I remember, you didn’t weigh enough to be able to donate blood.

  3. I have a table and chairs like these, they’re 50 years old and belonged to my grandparents. I love them, they’re good and solid. Well, they were until my 240 lb. husband sat in them…

    P.S. I love garbage pile furniture! And it’s even better when the garbage pile’s owner sees you eyeing it and offers to help you carry it home!

Comment. It gives me a reason not to clean my house.

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