When you reach a certain age, the chair you sit in counts.
My favorite chair, Otto, is in the TV room. It’s green and cushy. Otto rocks back a bit, and a foot rest automatically appears. But let’s be clear – it’s not a La-Z-Boy. I promised Sherry I’d never get one of those. The name doesn’t suit me. Otto is a masculine, German name dating back to the seventh century.
Otto has magic powers. Each Saturday, when I clean up the room, I reach deep into the lining of my chair. I’m always rewarded by pulling out a quarter, or at least a dime or two. Often, Otto gives me a couple peanuts or a kernel of popcorn as a special treat.
That’s not all. My chair can make time disappear. Just last night, at 9 o’clock sharp, Otto and I were meeting our civic duty by watching a political debate. The next minute, I look up at the wall clock and it’s quarter past 11.
Also, it’s a bit surprising that no one else sits in Otto. My family and friends choose the newer, less comfortable chairs in the room. Go figure!
I know the time is coming. Sherry has hinted this old, green chair doesn’t fit into the room decor. She’s invited me to join her tomorrow after work at a fancy Reno furniture store.
But Otto knows if he gets carried out of the TV room, I’ll be sitting on him.