Nothing is ever as it seems, only moreso.
Especially at my house.
———-
I knew we were in for a doozy of a Father’s Day this year by the box.
It was a rather large box, by boxing standards, especially for the kind of things we receive in boxes. It arrived one day, on our front steps, courtesy of Bob the Postal Putz. I did not see Bob but it could have been no one else. Our normal postal worker isn’t too much older than me but is straight out of the Fifties. He has very short hair, is always early, unfailingly polite, and he carries things in for my wife, who can’t lift anything heavy. He is so reliable that if the other postal workers ever caught wind of it, no one would ever find his body.
If Bob is ‘working’ that day, we’re lucky if he stands up in the truck before hurling whatever it is in the general direction of our front door. One time my wife complained about the carrier and everyone in the post office looked up and said “BOB” in unison, just like on Cheers. Bob apparently needs no introduction.
So this box was the size of an old television, immediately indicating that it wasn’t a new television (for which I had not actually asked). The only problem was that my wife didn’t know whose box it was or why it came to our house (in spite of her name on the box).
Normal people would get a headache trying to digest this apparent cause and effect. Those of us who work (and occasionally live) in the Twilight Zone<tm>, just let bygones be refrigerators and leave it at that.
In addition, my wife seemed to indicate that although she didn’t have a clue as to why a big box with her name on it was sitting on the floor, a telegram might be arriving in the next day or so with some details, so she’d let me know then.
Ah, OK then.
Within a day we discovered it was a chair, largely by the black print on the box that said CHAIR. In fact, it proceeded to divulge another clue: it was a reclining chair.
This didn’t do much for me but seemed to fill my wife in completely. A lightbulb went off over her head, so I knew she had finally figured it out. Several hours later, I asked her to turn the lightbulb off, as it was interrupting my attempts at sleep.
Looking around the living room, it was apparent (even to me) that we were not in need of any additional seating, nor was there room for any. Therefore we obviously needed whatever sort of reclining furniture-type device that was in the box on the floor and I should stop even thinking about it. Which I did.
———-
It kinda slipped out, via one of my wife’s chattier internal children, that the box was for Father’s Day. When she realized what she said, I pretended very loudly that I never heard a thing. She threw a towel over the box and we all completely failed to see it for two weeks or so.
On Father’s Day I was ordered to sit down and was presented with something I love: a big-ass bag of my favorite chocolate candies*. As if that weren’t enough, the kids brought me over to the errant box, which they were tremendously excited to have me open.
It was a recliner, because I deserved my own recliner for some reason (which even the therapists haven’t gotten to and if they have, I don’t want to know). One of the almost pre-verbal children wanted to point out that she picked the color: the color was chocolate. It was a chocolate recliner!
I put it together with only minimal cursing and everyone took turns testing it out. Everybody loved it. We decided (OK, my wife decided) where it would go and we moved it there. It has been a hit with everyone, including the odd guest who can tolerate visiting for long enough to sit down.
———-
Father’s Day, and June in general, tends to have two themes in my neighborhood: heat and humidity. This year was no exception, other than that it was unseasonably hot and humid. You know how it’s a bad idea to wear dark colors in the summer? It has to be worse for Marshall, the black cocker spaniel, who just got his summer haircut and still wasn’t exactly enjoying the humidity. Most nights you could find him sitting six inches from the front of a fan, as if he were worshipping it (Spans like fans!).
Like last year, Marshall got his pool put out in early June. Yes, the black cocker has a purple plastic pool that he loves to death. While I wasn’t around to see it last year, Ren (aka Satan) the cat also jumped in the pool. This year I’m not letting either of them near it until I can get video.
———-
For reasons covered elsewhere, we were getting ready for bed at 2am and let Marshall out for his final time that night. He came back in, blew past my wife, and landed right on my new chair. Oh, did I mention that he decided to take a little dip in his pool before coming back inside? Yes, not even twenty four hours after its ceremonial unboxing, a drenched dog inaugurated my new chair.
Now all we’re waiting for is Satan to try clawing the upholstery apart.
[* for anyone counting, these would include peanut butter M&M’s, white chocolate Lindt truffles, and Ghiardelli carmel-filled chocolates]