I have Butch Dalisay to thank (or blame) for my present blissful, semi-catatonic state, being partially responsible for bringing something into our awareness and thence, into our lives. Some weeks back, he wrote a column which he posted on his blog, “I Came, I Sat, It Conquered“, on his having been unexpectedly seduced by a La-Z-Boy while wandering around in a mall.
I’ve always known about La-Z-Boys, but never really thought about getting one, finding them too expensive and a symbol of a certain image I have of American, bourgeois, male slovenliness. Something Homer Simpson would surely have. I was above that, I sniffed. Until I read the esteemed Mr. Dalisay’s account of how he succumbed, with nary a struggle, to the La-Z-Boy’s siren song. Shameless hedonist that he is, he made it out like a voluptuous, almost wanton, experience. Something clicked in my middle-aged brain, and I sat sighing before the monitor, wanting to share in the sensuality of the moment. I began to connect with my inner Homer Simpson, who I suspect was always there, waiting for the right time to appear.
My wife, bless her kind, perceptive soul, must have seen my dreamy reaction to Butch’s shopping porn, and hatched a plan which would lift my seasonal crankiness. On Christmas eve, lo and behold, a triumvirate from Blim’s suddenly appeared at our gate bearing more than gold, frankincense and myrrh. It was a La-Z-Boy! Not just any rocker-recliner but a classic Larson, first made in 1929 and which has soothed, and continues to provide rest to, many a weary backside since. To read its description in the La-Z-Boy website would make any sybarite mad with desire: “the full-body comfort of an inviting chaise seat” and its “luxurious softness” and “generously-cushioned design“, “accented by a channeled pillow back, flared arms and alluring curves throughout“. Alluring curves! On a chair!
And Mr. Dalisay is right. The damn things communicate through some otherworldly method, commanding me, in a nice way, to “Come here. Sit. Now.” I was only too happy to follow orders.
Now me and my brown-leather cradle are inseparable. It’s not cheap, but costs considerably less than most top-of-the-line laptops and other late-model gizmos. And it won’t be rendered obsolete in 18 months. In fact, it comes with a 10-year warranty on the mechanism, 2 years on the upholstery. And it’s apropos that something which first saw light during the Great Crash of 1929 would be here to welcome the global financial crisis which, we are told, will be felt more keenly in 2009. It’s comforting to know that I can ride out the coming recession in an adult bassinet that’s been around for 80 years.
Now excuse me, but I seem to hear a brown leather armchair insistently calling from a corner of the house.