Catching up on my newspaper reading after our trip I came across one of those "What are you thankful for?" pieces in The Winston-Salem Journal, the same article that is done every Thanksgiving day by every newspaper in the United States, and wouldn't have read it except that Laura Giovanelli put it together and since I've met her and like everything she writes I decided to give it a glance. So what do I find, but a quote from my Uncle Steve:
Sure, Steve Motsinger of Winston-Salem is thankful for his family and his dog, Sadie. But he wanted to single out the little things that make his life good: hot showers, Advil, whitening toothpaste, paper towels, automatic coffee makers, newspapers delivered in plastic bags, comfortable shoes, relaxed-fit jeans and classic rock 'n' roll, and most of all, his beloved LazyBoy recliner.
"I admit that the springs are shot and the fabric worn and stained. I'll even concede that there might be a Frito or two from 1987 mellowing away in some dark interior nook. (I strongly suspect that there are also one or more pacifiers, which mysteriously disappeared when the kids were toddlers). But for all its faults, the chair fits me like a glove. The sounds of springs groaning and fabric straining whenever I sit down are, to me, the Sirens' call, luring me back onto the shore of the World of a Thousand Naps. This chair is my friend and I am thankful for it."
I've sat in that chair and can attest that it's very comfortable and upon further consideration I'm jealous of it. We've never purchased La-Z-Boy for our house, instead opting for multiple couches in our living rooms and dens. Thus I have a couch with a favorite spot, which anyone can easily identify because it's the spot with a large indentation that never goes away. It bothers Celeste mightily so I'm thinking I need to get a chair for my large derriere for two reasons:
- When guests come over they don't see a lopsided couch that embarrasses my wife, but rather a battered and stained monument to the American male that my wife can point to and say "Men!?"
- I have a place that is all my own, a sanctuary with a male bubble of seclusion that no one will sit in because it grosses them out, and from which I can watch my fill of football and basketball games while gnoshing on various and sundry heart attack inducing snacks, games that I'll never see the end of because I've been lured by the Sirens' call to one of countless naps.
