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WHEN IN DOUBT, HIRE
THE COMFORT MASTER
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"I have a job for you," my wife said to me as I
headed off to work Monday morning. "It won't take long."
I have a reputation for being a bit of a slacker when it comes
to household maintenance. In fact, I'm pretty much incompetent, or at least
I've conveniently convinced my wife that I am.
"Don't ask me to change the outdoor lightbulbs
again," I pleaded. "You remember what happened last time?"
I got the lightbulb changed, miraculously, but not without a
price. I was too lazy to walk 20 steps and get a ladder, so I got high on my
tippy-toes, then got even higher….and strained the tendons at the base of
my toe. It was an injury that bothered me for months.
"No need to worry about getting hurt this time," she
replied. "I just need you to meet me at a furniture store south of
Market and sit in some kitchen chairs that I'm thinking of buying."
There are jobs, and then there are jobs. This was my kind of
job. I had done it many times over the years, and had pretty much become an
expert. She obviously knew who to call.
I am the comfort master. If you're thinking of buying a piece
of furniture that requires sitting or lying down, don't even consider it
without calling me. I know what works, and what doesn't.
And I am not shy about my talent. A few years ago, my wife and
I were shopping for toilets. Some husbands might have been intimidated, but
not the comfort master. I sat (fully clothed, of course) on the one my wife
had picked out. Much to her horror, it was located right in the middle of
the crowded store. I didn't care. I had a job to do.
That toilet is still with us today, thanks to my dedication,
passion and efficiency.
The same held true when we were looking for chairs for the
living room. After my wife had vetoed all my La-Z-Boy choices, and I had
vetoed all her antique European medieval torture chairs, we found one that
satisfied her desire for style and my insistence on comfort.
It took three years to find it, but no one said my job was an
easy one.
Finding kitchen chairs was going to be a lot easier. She had
already done much of the legwork and was convinced she had found something
that had both comfort and style. All that was left was for me to come sit on
it.
I met her at the furniture store that afternoon. I walked with
her through the displays, snorting at some of the hard-backed chairs we
passed as we made our way to the chosen ones. I pitied whoever was stupid
enough to buy some of those chairs. They'd regret the day they didn't call
me first.
To my surprise, my wife had chosen two different chairs for me
to try. At first sight, I could see she had learned well. Both had
possibilities. Soft fabric, nice wide seats, a bit of a contour. I smiled at
her, letting her know that she hadn't wasted my time.
The saleswoman and my wife watched anxiously as I carefully
lowered myself onto the first chair. They waited for my reaction, but I
offered nothing. Much like a master sommelier at a wine-tasting, I simply
nodded and moved on to the next test.
After sitting in the second chair, I moved back to the first,
and then again to the second. The nuances of each were coming to me, slowly
but surely. Incredibly, each had passed the initial comfort inspection. Now
a decision had to be made.
I leaned back and rocked in one, then sat in the other and
draped my foot over the arm. I tried putting my foot up on the table, but my
wife stopped me.
"Just make a decision, comfort boy," she said,
knocking my foot back to the floor. "What's it going to be?"
I sniffed at her insolence and pointed to the one with the
slightly higher back. "I have chosen," I replied. "You may
proceed with this one."
My wife turned to the saleswoman. "I guess we'll take the
Peyton," she said, referring to the manufacturer. "Now we need to
choose the fabric color."
"How about this one?" I chirped, pointing to one of
the sample colors.
My wife waved me away. "You're color blind. Go home."
I decided she was right. Style and colors were for lesser
people to decide. The comfort master's job was done.
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