I inquired as to what the item was, and discovered that was a giant "chair and a half." And where would this chair go?
IN MY SPACE.
I nearly fainted, because I have developed an undying devotion and love to this chair:
It looks like an ordinary lounger. It is not. I expressed my fear of losing my chair, and my heart-felt attachment to it, and my Dad comforted me, "Don't worry, we won't give away the chair, it's going in your first apartment." All I can say is, it better.
And Mom asked, "How can you have an undying love for this chair? We've only had it for like two years."
Which is true. But ever since we lugged it down the street, this chair and I were soul mates. I got ridiculously sick shortly after, and for some reason decided my bed could not compare in comfiness. So I slept on this chair for days. It was about 100 degrees, because it was summer and there is no AC in that room. But that is what I did.
After that, anyone who tried to occupy it got death stares. The chair is the blanket to my Linus. I sat on it, sulked, and blew my nose a million times while Claire was shaking hands with Barack Obama. I laid on it is stunned disbelief while the Giants won the Super Bowl. I crammed five people on to it during swim team pasta parties. I fought off my Dad and sister on it while they tried to tickle me to death. It has allowed me to flop onto it without shattering beneath me.
It's my chair, and even though it's kind of broken thanks to my abuse, it's here to stay. Now if only I could fit it in the dorm room.
Oh yeah. And I go back to college tomorrow.
And I'm procrastinating.
This worked.
