Upholstery, Kids, & Me

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Don’t you just love vintage anything?

From the Acceptance Speech to the Swearing in. 

They said it couldn’t be done.

They said you’re kidding yourself.
They said, “No way, José“.
Find another chair, that we couldn’t handle it. Mashed potatoes and nuggets, mashed carrots, nori, and cabbage soup would all land in the chair’s weave. Well we proved them wrong. As wrong as an infomercial dousing gasoline on a white rug, followed by peanut butter and red paint, then poop.

They said it could never come out, that we are fooling ourselves and we should or can only ever have smooth, wipeable plastic. We proved them wrong today. I proved I was not a mad woman for stubbornly choosing the more top of the line dining room chairs–the upholstered chairs.

I should be in a full-on red track suit for this, the infomercial of my life.

See, during the blessing over the wine this past Shabbat, I spilled and practically threw my wine stem in the air. The next millisecond rained juice, the full cup, and glass. Shards and shards of glass, as if I’d smashed three glasses. Glass all over, purple spreading liquid all over my beautiful chair. The non-childproof one with the non-chair-cover hiding it.

We must like to be vulnerable. I must like emotional roller coasters.

But anyway, it came out!!
Next stop, I help sell Magic Bullets or Rainbow vacs. I sell mugs to people who hate hot drinks. I’ll go door to door with encyclopedias and the soap and muscle, not to mention, miracle, we used to get all the purple out.  I’ve got this.

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Don’t worry, we’ll screw the legs back on.

 

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