The first few years of our marriage, we lived in Hickory, North Carolina. The thing about Hickory is that it is RIFE with furniture discounts and opportunities.
I know this because everyone we knew reminded us constantly. "Have you bought furniture yet? You should buy furniture here! This is the best place to buy furniture! You can get the BEST discounts! Have you bought it yet?!" You mean since the beginning of our conversation? No, not yet. How good is the discount? Is it free? Because it needs to be free.
Just because you live in a furniture capital, does not mean you automatically have furniture capital (see what I did there). And to be honest, we were perfectly happy on our $20 Salvation Army chair that spun, and our hand-me-down chaise that smelled like old lady powder puffs.
But you know how peer pressure goes...eventually you grow weary of seeing your own fanny print in the weakened springs of an old love seat and you think, "Why not just try the meth?
I headed into the world of swatches and stores that bake Otis Spunkmeyer cookies while you browse. I searched, agonized, fretted for weeks. I knew that I'd never spend this much money at one time again on an object that didn't drive you around town, and I assumed we'd be sitting on it for the next 50 years.
Finally, finally, I came away with a chair and sofa. We sat down on them, looked at each other and said, "Huh."
Finally, Chris asked, "You sat on this at the store, right?"
I did. I really did. I promise.
But this is what I learned:
When you sit on furniture in a showroom, you sit like a fake person in a catalog. You cross your legs, pretend to read a book, sit erect like a fully evolved homo sapien.
However, when you sit on furniture at home, you sit like a noodle....like the hunched lady with the posture of a human shepherd's crook that you truly are. And you like it that way.
Our furniture (BOTH pieces) had the slightest incline down in the seat. Also, the backrests inclined slightly backward. Which means you end up sitting in a 110 degree angle. And it was tall enough that your feet didn't quite reach the floor. Not enough to notice at first, but after 10 minutes, enough to make you give up your will to live.
Even the pet hated it.
It was beautiful though. It looked like a lovely, matchy, texturey leisure suit for a lady from the 70s, all in colors that complemented my hair and complexion.
I looked great in pictures standing near it.
We endured though. Kids came along. Everyone fought to sit on the $20 spinning chair. We moved to High Point (an even BIGGER furniture capital). This time, I did not listen to the voices of unreason. After all, meth isn't for everyone.
Mostly I just thought, "This is what we deserve. We listened to the myth of 'what grown ups should own.' We spent. We deserve to sit like obtuse angles. It is the persecution for our sins."
But god has grace on the hunched.
Later I walked into Goodwill, and without even trying, found the most perfect, comfy couch, in a color that matched everything in the house and only smelled a little like old-man-pants and Old Spice.
Deliverance.
"'Comfort. Comfort my people,' says your god."
