Mourning My Old Recliner

Everyone has sad days. Today is one of mine.

Since my new recliner joined the household two weeks ago, I've relished its warmth and comfort. I've (almost nightly) napped in its embrace. I've gone so far as to call it a hug for my butt. 

But that doesn't mean I've forgotten my old La-Z-Boy. 

We were together 12 years, which is the longest relationship of my life, I think. I paid a coworker $40 for it, and my family helped me haul it up the 32 steps to my apartment. Covered in cat hair (achoo!), it looked older than it really was, and I worried that maybe I'd made a bad deal. But I borrowed a Little Green Machine and cleaned the hell out of that sucker. Once it dried, it was my go-to seat in my apartment. (I had a couch, too, but the chair was comfy!) 

When I bought my house, the chair made the three-mile trek over from my apartment with my hand-me-down couch — the extent of my living room seating options. God only knows how many hours I sat in that thing, watching TV and movies, napping, reading. It saw me through ridiculous crushes. Giant relationship mistakes. Giant life mistakes. Giant victories. Big announcements. Knee injuries. Back pain. Colds. Strep throat. My country music phase. My random OAR phase. A bazillion Jack Reacher novels. The entire Game of Thrones series (books, not the show). It outlasted four jobs, two bad decisions and my sister's marriage. When I bought it, my nephews were adorable little seven- and five-year-old boys. Now they're a Marine and a high school junior.

My butt left marks in that chair. 

(Maybe I should sit less.)

Everything has its expiration date, though, and a few years back Email Dumper told me the chair was ridiculously uncomfortable. I ignored him, because he complained about a lot of things. My more diplomatic best friend said he felt like maybe it had seen better days. I knew most of the stuffing had gone out of it. I could feel the wooden frame beneath the cushions. It made awful noises when I rocked in it — the kind of noises you can't quiet with WD-40. It got to the point that I felt bad asking guests to sit in it. So I decided to turn traitor and buy a new one.

Attachment to my big purchases isn't anything new for me. I cried when I traded in my first SUV for its (almost identical) replacement. But as I finally dragged the old chair up to the curb today, I felt terrible. For starters, I had to take it apart to haul it out of the house. And it's cold outside. The damned thing is sitting up by the road, bisected, with snow on it. All those years it kept me warm and comfortable, and this is how I treat it?

It's like I took an old dog "to the farm," if you get my drift. 

I'm a horrible person. A horrible person with a new comfortable chair. But horrible, nonetheless.