Jerry Zezima, a Newsday assistant editor who writes a nationally syndicated humor column for his hometown paper, The
A man's home is his hassle. That's why he needs a throne to sit on. And I'm not talking about one made of porcelain.
I refer, of course, to a guy chair -- a big, comfortable seat he can relax in after performing such exhausting tasks as throwing out the garbage or picking up his dirty socks and underwear, a place fit for a king while he sits in front of the TV and either watches sports for hours on end or struggles to stay awake for the 11 o'clock news.
My wife, Sue, bless her heart, said I needed one. So we went furniture shopping.
When we arrived at the store, Sue told the greeter, who did her job well by greeting us, that we had an appointment with a saleswoman named Melody. The greeter telephoned Melody, who was in another part of the store, and said, "There are guests at the front desk."
"This sounds like a hotel," I said. "If we're guests, can we stay overnight?"
"Sure," the greeter answered. "We have bedroom furniture upstairs."
I noticed a bar with wineglasses and empty bottles.
"Did I miss happy hour?" I asked.
"Yes," the greeter said. "We just finished the wine."
While we were waiting for Melody, I walked around the store, which probably had more chairs, tables, beds, bureaus, sofas and nightstands than Buckingham Palace. There were enough footstools for an ottoman empire.
"Try out the chairs," Sue suggested.
"You want me to sit around and do nothing?" I asked. "That's what I do at home."
At that point, Melody showed up and said she was helping another customer but that we would be in good hands with Gloria.
"We're looking for a chair," Sue told her.
"What kind?" Gloria inquired.
"A guy chair," I said. "For me."
Then I proceeded to tell Gloria the long, sad story of the history of all the chairs that were supposed to be for me but were co-opted by Sue or our various pets, including our late, beloved dog, Lizzie, and our still-living cats, Kitty and her fat daughter, Bernice.
"The first time we got a chair that was ostensibly for me, we put it in the family room and Sue started sitting in it to watch 'Law & Order' and all her other shows," I explained. "I was relegated to the rocking chair. At least I got to practice for my old age, which is rapidly approaching."
"You don't look old," said Gloria.
"That's because I'm shockingly immature," I replied. "It makes me seem younger."
"Anyway," I continued, "the chair was getting clawed by our cats, so Sue put a slipcover on it. Then she said we needed another chair."
"It was supposed to be for him," Sue chimed in.
"Was it?" Gloria asked.
"No," I said. "Sue started using it and our dog took over the first chair. She didn't even watch 'Law & Order.' We put it in the living room, which we seldom use. I still sat in the rocking chair."
"Now we're looking for a third chair," Sue said. "This time it's really for Jerry."
I picked out a very comfortable club chair that matched the sofa and the second chair.
"It's the only chair that Cindy Crawford attaches herself to," Gloria informed me. "She uses it for her collection."
"Does this mean Cindy will be visiting us to watch TV?" I asked excitedly.
"She doesn't come with the chair," Gloria responded.
"That's OK," I said. "She'd only take it over and I'd have to sit in the rocker again."
The new club chair was delivered a few days later and put in the family room. I'd like to say I enjoy it, but our cats have taken it over.
As always, I am not going to take this sitting down.
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