Saturday, May 11, 2013

The chair is...dead.

  Good morning! Ya know, we are not a family that generally throws anything away. That can be a good thing…or a painful one.
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  When we moved into our house (among about 13 truck loads of other stuff, because my Grandma could have qualified for an episode of Hoarders. It’s somthing of a family trait.) we found a couple kitchen chairs.

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  These “interesting” chairs were more than likely from the 70’s, but they were functional. And that? Is a bonus in a house filled with three boys and a Mother who has never quite mastered the art of sitting properly in a chair. It would seem that sitting cross-legged with your butt scooted all the way back and your torso bent almost double over your dinner plate is NOT the right way to sit at the table. (At least according to hubby.)

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  Between me, the offspring, and the petting zoo, we go through furniture the way most people go through blue jeans. So, any chair that is in mostly one piece is a keeper.
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  Now, I’ll give it to this particular chair, it lasted seven years with our family without so much as a complaint. Until yesterday…
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  OK, more accurately, until two weeks ago. That would be about the time I sat down and heard a creaking groan, a snap, and the kerplunk of metal landing on a wood floor. When I got up to get more coffee (hey, I didn’t see the point of jumping up when I knew I’d be moving in a minute. Conserving energy, right?) Anyway, when I got up for a java refill, I noted a bolt that had snapped in half laying on the floor under said chair. Huh…
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  I didn’t worry too much, since it still held my weight. So the chair remained in use.
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  This same scenario played out last week, snapped bolt and all. And yes, I continued to use the chair at my desk every morning. I mean, it was still working so why fix what ain’t broke. (Unless, of course, it is OBVIOUSLY broken since it’s spat out two busted bolts.)
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  Yesterday, The Girl was using my geriatric laptop. No biggie! She sat down, shifted her weight to get comfy and…SCREAMED!
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  The chair had spat out a third sheered bolt, gave a final death-groan, and collapsed under The Girl with two legs going one way and two…no longer attached. (If I hadn’t been so busy laughing, I would have thought to take a picture. Darn it!)
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  FORTUNATELY
, The Girl caught herself on the table with one hand, and the desk with the other, avoiding any physical harm. (Whew!) After she stopped screaming, she ended up laughing so hard she couldn’t even get up. Or, more accurately, couldn’t untangle her legs from those of the chair to get up. .

  The state of the chair? Total structural failure.
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  Hubby enjoyed pointing out that this may be one of the reasons our family seems to eat furniture…lack of action when something small goes wonky. We (meaning me) just keep using it until something small turns into something big.
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  I like to point out the small, broken bolts never did grow into big, broken bolts. They stayed the exact same size. I know this because they laid on my desk to remind me to mention to hubby there might be a problem. But, I kept forgetting to remember.
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  His new point is I’m a smartass. Which makes me smile with pride. Because he called me smart. *blushing grin*
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  But I will concede I’m a bit smarter now because I shall remember that sheered bolts discovered on the floor underneath a chair (even if it’s still a functional chair) ARE a cause for concern. (Who knew!?!)

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