Prone To Being Prone

I am not by nature a vertical person. I don’t enjoy gravity, and as I get older, I find myself longing more and more for the horizontal. To clarify, I’m not talking about a coffin or anything as morbid as that—I love life; I just love it more when I’m prone. And it occurred to me last week as I turned 55 that there was one thing missing from my life that would allow me to live my dream. But first, a little backstory.

When we bought our house, it had an old summer kitchen attached to the back. It was being used as a workshop, but we soon realized the potential for finishing it and turning it into a living space. Plus, it gave Ken an excuse to build a workshop in the back yard, and if you were following the chronicles of last summer’s artisanal gazebo, you will understand the glee with which he undertook the challenge of applying gables and picture windows and other assorted architectural features to the project. Ultimately, the old summer kitchen was transformed into a very nice family room where we could watch movies. The trouble was that the room had no heat source; an electric fireplace did the trick, but there was an old door at the back that let in a lot of drafts. We had already put in a set of French doors and never used the other one, so a couple of weeks ago, we finally had the back door replaced with an insulated window. Side note: did you know that having an open wall cavity in early November attracts a lot of flies, but that you can gain hours of endless amusement from watching your dog attempt to catch them all?

At any rate, the window project was completed, and as it happens with all home renos, a slippery slope began. We had more space to rearrange the furniture, which left us with an area that was big enough to add an additional chair. We brought one down from the bedroom but, as we were watching The Mandalorian last week, I was dissatisfied. With both the series, which I will get to, and the chair.

Me: I don’t like this.
Ken: It’s Star Wars. The acting is never stellar.
Me: No, I meant the chair. It’s not that comfortable.
Kate: Well, sit on the sectional with us.
Me: But it’s so crowded and I never get the long spot. I want one of those theatre chairs with the cupholders and the power recline.
Ken: Those are way too big. It would block the patio doors.
Me: I WANT ONE. I’m a grown-ass woman—if I want a theatre chair, I should be able to have one!! Stop laughing at me!

But I had the last laugh. Because another Friday rolled around, and as I finished off an incredibly busy week, I was, once again, simultaneously looking forward another episode of The Mandalorian and wondering which other franchise it would rip off (this season has already seen Dune and Alien, and I’m just waiting for a planet ruled by a chick riding a dragon) and NOT looking forward to sitting in the very vertical chair from our bedroom.

Me: I’m going out.
Ken: Why?
Me: I’m going to buy a chair. Want to come?
Ken: I’m too tired. Wait until tomorrow.
Me: No.

But let’s be honest. Did I really need to buy an expensive theatre chair just to watch movies in a couple of times a week? Of course not. But I DID know a great place to shop for furniture, and I was convinced that I would find something perfect at the Restore Store, which raises money for Habitat For Humanity through donations of furniture and other things that people can buy. I raced down the highway, got there right before closing, threw on my mask, and rushed in. And would you believe it? They had not one, but TWO theatre chairs for a third the price of retail! And would you also believe that when I looked at them, I realized Ken was right—there was no way a chair that size would fit into the room. I was sadly disappointed, but then, from behind me, a sultry voice called out, “Hey, baby.” I turned, and there was a tanned, leather recliner, sturdy and fit.

Me (blushing): Are—are you talking to me?
Leather Recliner (slow drawl): Uh huh. Why don’t you come sit on my lap and settle in?
Me: Well, I could, just for a…ooh, this is very comfy.
LR: Reach down and pull the handle.
Me: Oh yeah! This is what I’m talking about!

So the guys at the store helped load up the chair, who was extremely happy to be coming home with me. When I told the cashier that I needed the chair to watch The Mandalorian, he nodded and said, “Perfect. All furniture today is also 15% off.”

Of course, having the perfect comfy chair didn’t really help the viewing itself, particularly when it came out finally that The Child, who is apparently NOT Baby Yoda, is actually called Grogu. What kind of name is that for an adorable animated puppet? I recently bought Kate a toy Baby Yoda, and I call it Shmoo, which I think is much better and cuter. But at least I got to watch the whole thing in a warm room, glass of wine in hand, and completely horizontal.