An epic battle has been waged…over an ugly chair.

For today’s fun:

Let’s talk about the weird, old, horrible belongings that our significant others inexplicably become attached to. Like really attached to. Like so attached that you can’t just get rid of whatever it is because it would violate some ancient, unspoken relationship code that has been in place for centuries and unleash a catastrophic chain of events…

Or something.

I once tried to send a relic of a coat that was NOT EVER coming back into style to whatever charitable clothing place would take it. My husband disagreed and attempted to wear said coat in order to prove the point that it was still a functional piece of clothing.

Words were said. Compromises were made. Crisis was averted. The coat is now hanging in a downstairs closet taking up space and collecting dust but heaven help him if he ever tries to wear it out of this house again. I may or may not attempt to throw it away again. But I can’t promise it won’t cause a monsoon or plague of locusts if I do.

I don’t understand why men (and women) do this, but I’m pretty sure that it dates back to when Eve tried to start a fire with Adam’s old fig leaf, and he threw a giant mantrum, because it was his fig leaf, and still perfectly wearable despite the fact that it was dried out and crunchy.


In modern times, the over-fondness for crispy fig leaves has given way to an over-fondness for clothing that has seen better days. You know what I mean. The kind they keep wearing, over and over. We’re talking that ratty hat from that one game from that one time in college, the pit stained favorite t-shirts featuring the names of bands that now play state fairs, and any pair of jeans having rips where there should not be rips and whose fit no longer exists in the fashion industry.

Sometimes, you get lucky and these items die a natural death. Sometimes…not so much. Those of us that are stealthy know how to get rid of these things. Those of us that aren’t…well, we have old coats hanging in closets.

My very good friend bought her husband two brand new bags of socks, yet failed to get rid of the old ones. A week later, she did laundry. Guess what came out of the dryer? Something like this:


The brand new socks were still in their packaging, neatly tucked into the drawer. He was still wearing the ones with holes. He would not throw them away.

Clothing aside. There is also the stuff. Random, stupid, awful, completely and utterly mind boggling stuff that you aren’t allowed to toss or donate or bury in the backyard. Like that weight bench. You know, the one with 3 inches of dust and a stack of workout magazines on it? Or “vintage” gaming consoles, horrible knickknacks, golf clubs for when they “get back into golfing,” and that random whatever it is that they are “going to fix up one day.” Not to mention the other really, really odd things that they latch onto for reasons that will never be understood.

I do not care how neat, fastidious, well-dressed, organized or whatever your guy (or gal) is. They all have something. I believe these things may be the grown up man version of a blankie.


We have one of those things in our house. An epic battle has been waged over it, and its predecessors, for well over a decade.  My husband has a fondness for  previously owned, slightly used, extremely ugly recliners that he insists on hanging on to for way too long because, ahem, they are comfortable.

We have gone through approximately three of these recliners.

I could handle the first one, because that was when we were young and poor and needed furniture for our new empty house. The second one…I tolerated, despite the brand new furniture that was purchased and placed around it. The third one…not so much.

Here is the latest gem:


Behold, this fine piece of used-to-be-seafoam velour monstrosity in all of its glory. It was given to us by a nice family member who was moving. My hubby said it would be fine, temporarily, until we bought a new one. We were actually supposed to be buying a new one that year. Ahhh. Hope.

That was 7 years ago. He keeps insisting that it is really, really comfortable and that is why we still have it.

Now, you might be wondering: why didn’t I just take it upon myself to buy a new chair?  Remember what I said? Ancient relationship codes.  Natural disasters. Man blankies.These attachments defy rational thought. There is no argument, agreement, or amount of cajoling that will work. Even those husbands who are known to respond to reason and sound logic are not going to give up their blankies.

Many, many conversations have taken place about this chair. Sale ads for recliners have been circled. Stores have been visited. Threats…er, suggestions have been made. Yet why spend money on a new recliner when it is such a “comfortable” chair? I could probably just replace it with a shiny new model..but deep down inside, I fear that the loss of the well-loved hideous chair would result in, well, something even more horrific being brought into my house to replace it.

For now,  I have made peace with the chair…

So have my children. They enjoy sitting in the chair, while drinking giant, open-topped glasses of red juice. Or drawing pictures…with permanent marker. And then there was that one time with the facepaint…

Sometimes I wish for vomit while dreaming of leather recliners.

This chair…oddly indestructible.

Now that coat…not so much.


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