The Chair of No Responsibility

Our furniture isn't really our furniture. Since we are living in a corporate apartment that is basically furnished, we didn't bring much in the way of furniture. So the first thing I tell someone when they come over is we didn't pick this furniture, and really we only own the kid furniture in the house.

And when I tell someone that we didn't pick the furniture, I specifically tell them that the recliner with the cigarette (I assume) burns in the arms is definitely not a piece of our collection. Of course, despite the stains and the burns and the general stupidness of it all, someone is always in that chair.

Of course it is the most comfortable chair in the house.

Square in front of the TV (HELLO Satellite TV, mind you.), close to the front door and in a kind of blind spot that really can't be used to peer around corners into the bedroom or the bathroom, it has been labeled the "chair of no responsibility".

Seriously.

Whenever Charlie is in that chair he can't hear, see or tend to the children. He is rendered useless and sometimes can't even budge to get his own beer. It is a vacuous hole of a chair that sucks you into its cozy cotton, rocking you into a media induced oblivion UNTIL YOU NEED ANOTHER BEER.

And then I yell, "Oh HELL NO you aren't going to come home after I haven't had a break ALL DAY with the wacky kids and sit down in front of the ESPN and have your beers delivered as you revel in the CHAIR OF NO RESPONSIBILITY!"

Only tonight when he came home, the kids were both asleep. The meatloaf and cheesy mashed potatoes were almost ready. I bought the yummy frozen garlic bread.

And I had a glass of whiskey to offer as I told him to kick his feet up in the CONR.

I guess Day 2 got better.