an angry letter.

 

Dear Green Chair

I have a complaint. What is it about your role in life at my kitchen table that you don’t understand? Been reading too many of those speculations about whether a chair needs four legs? Take it from me, unless you’re some kind of design beauty (and you’re not), the answer is YES. Moreover, they need to be legs of the same length.

I’ve had enough of you wobbling, scratching my kitchen floor, sending me off-balance at unexpected moments. But I have definitely reached the end of my patience with you now that you’ve attacked – I don’t use the word lightly – my elderly mother. To throw and 83-year-old lady, a little white-haired old lady, a lady who already has one hip operation behind her – to throw her on the floor! You certainly timid the buckling of one of your legs well, didn’t you? Hey? What were you thinking?

Time and again I’ve screwed that fourth leg back into your ungrateful underside, and time and again it’s worked loose. That’s it, buddy. No more second chances. It’s to the garbage for you.

Yes, harsh, I know, since you’ve been with me for forty years. But it has to be.

Now I have to go and visit my mother in the hospital.

Yours in anger,

 


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