The House of Broken Chairs

My house should be known as the "House of Broken Chairs". Only 2 out of my eclectic collection matches, and probably about that many have stable, glued joints. I have old T-backs, 30's chairs, Windsor repros, a beautiful Captain's chair, and a few turn of the century hand made chairs. They all have character, but they all have a problem of some sort or another.

It all started when I was married to my first husband. We had a party, and as usual in those early 80's party days, it got to be a bit out of hand. Hormonal young bucks started pushing one another around, and one of them landed in my goose neck rocker, smashing it to pieces. I loved this rocker I might add. I found it in the house when I bought it, brought it upstairs, promptly cleaned it up, recovered it, and nursed at least one of my children in it. I left ridges in the carpet from rocking in that chair while waiting for my ex to come home from his nights on the town. Sometimes I rocked all weekend.

Last year, now on my second house and husband, we had another party. All of us were twenty years older, and at least 20 pounds heavier. One of my friends sat down upon one of the new more modern junk finds - which promptly exploded! I mean exploded...rungs, arms, pieces flung about! Fortunately she didn't get hurt, and we all were hysterical for the next half hour at her expense.
Now when my company comes over to eat, they carefully inspect the rungs and legs and put them back together if need be. I have given up caring if they match and anyone who visits knows enough to do a precursory inspection.

Just look before you sit down with glass of wine in hand, and hey, pass the cheese!


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