Lou Milner - Humbug 2002

Out with the old (Please!)

The 2004 Christmas update

Okay, let's cut to the chaise and talk about the big event. By big, I mean extremely large.

As most of you know, Jack and I have been cohabiting, semi-blissfully for something like 24 years. (Jack and the Cat have been together for half that time, but purrfectly blissfully, which undoubtedly counts for twice as much, maybe more in cat years.) Anyway, the point is this: 2004 was almost our last year together.

Before you start thinking that poor old Jack had a stroke or a dangling participle or something, I must spin you around in a direction new. In fact, picture this: You're in our living room staring at the ugliest, biggest chair God ever put foam in. So now you know the issue is the big ugly chair (as alluded to in the opening cut-to-the-chaise sentence).

Can you imagine, every day of your life, staring at something you hate? I think this is a basic principle covered in the foreword of the Feng Shui 101 textbook: Do not place big ugly chair anywhere in house.

True, most people don't have to read the book. They instinctively know these things, but Jack can at times be slightly obtuse, which is why I felt compelled to say to him, over long-distance telephone wires, "Do not, please Jack, do not come home with any furniture. I don't care what it is, I would rather live with our holey [remember holes the size of Australasia?], worn-out stuff until we can afford new upholstery."

I was very clear. "Do not come home with any furniture." And because I'm always considerate of Jack's situation at any given moment, in case there was static or interference of any kind at his end, I repeated the appeal several times. "Do not come home with any furniture." "Do not come home with any furniture." "Do not…"

In spite of my plea, or perhaps to spite me and my plea, Jack arrived from away with a truckful of chair and proceeded to position it front and center. Make no mistake, I was upset, but did I say anything? No.

Not immediately.

I tried to ignore it by shielding my eyes with my hand. But when that got old, and he failed to notice my discomfort, I went outside to where he was toiling in the yard, and I shrieked at him. Yes, shrieked. I naturally made myself look ridiculous, as everyone within the radius of Vancouver Island would attest. Nevertheless, I could not contain myself. So upset was I that following my rant I jumped in my car and sped to an ailing friend's house, hoping that seeing someone with real problems would somehow make me feel better. She fed me peanutbutter cookies and instructed me to race home and insist the chair be removed.

Not certain this was truly the best course, I arrived home undecided. But lo, when I stepped into the living room, the chair was gone and all was well. Not a thread of residue remained to inform of the unfortunate installment. Ya-hoo!

Not so fast.

It took me a couple of days to catch on, but it turned out Jack was not speaking to me.

Still, owing to a previous commitment, he drove me to the Comox airport where I was to board a Calgary-bound plane. En route to the airport, I noticed the dreaded chair. It was under the canopy, in the back. He had been driving around all week with this ridiculous chair in his pickup. Apparently he had tried to foist it off on others, but no one could be swayed. Naturally, I was incredulous. How could anyone resist instantly latching onto the thing and dragging it up their front steps into their very own precious living quarters?

Anyway, by now, I'm feeling pretty bad. Poor Jack, driving around town with this great ugly chair in the back. I don't know what got into me. He looked so pitiful, without really thinking it through, I said, sigh, "Haul it back into the house. I'll learn to love it."

After I'd been in Calgary a few days, I thought I'd phone home for the Cat report. The conversation went like this:

"Hello Honey Bunny, what are you guys doing?"

"Just sitting here in my big chair watching TV."

"What big chair?"

"You know, 'the' chair."

If I had thought for one nanosecond, that he would actually lug the stupid thing back into the house after all we'd been through, I would have kept my careless maw corked. Now I was too angry to speak and cared not a stitch for any more news. In fact, less news would have been preferable.

So here we are, on the eve of '05, and the big ugly chair remains, as do I. Unfortunately, despite my promise, I have not learned to love the wretched thing. And while I have no concrete plan for the New Year, I do know this: the chair must go. Otherwise, 2005 could definitely be our last year.

If you have any suggestions, or if you are partial to big ugly chairs, or if you have a removal service of your own, please get in touch with me ASAP. I'm not getting any taller.

Thanks,

P.S. Jack says he's trying to quit smoking.

P.P.S. He has removed the plastic smoking room from the balcony, which is a good start.