Living in Recliner Hell

Over the last couple of months, I have been going through my own personal hell. I have finally decided to share my story because pain shared is pain lessened.

Months ago, we ordered a bunch of new furniture for our new house, including a beautiful power recliner for my husband. He has been talking about getting a new recliner for years, so I insisted that we buy this fancy, power recliner for him. I said that he deserved a nice, big, comfortable chair to relax in. I should have known better.

After a few days, I could tell that he wasn’t in love with this recliner. He would sit in it for a few minutes and then get up to sit next to me on the couch. He said he wanted to be close to me. I called bullshit. I was right. He would sit in his recliner, thrashing about and stretching his neck dramatically, in an attempt to get comfortable. After several days, he finally admitted what I already knew. The chair wasn’t as comfortable as he initially thought and he wanted a new one. He called the store only to find out that we were beyond the 72-hour return window. I told him he either had to shut up about it and keep the chair or try to sell it on Facebook. He posted it for sale and we waited. He insisted that we carry the chair upstairs to get it out of the way for the time being. I guess he couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.

In the meantime, he began the seemingly endless and incredibly painful search for his new chair. He scoured the internet, checking every furniture website known to man, but he just couldn’t find what he wanted. It was then that I began to fear that he had set such ridiculously high expectations for this recliner that no chair would ever be good enough for him. Just when I was about to give up hope, he finally found another chair. He ordered it online and picked it up at the store himself.

He raved on and on about how comfortable his new chair was, so much so that I began to think he was overcompensating. I was right. He was sitting in his chair one morning, fidgeting around and talking about how great it was. I told him to stop bullshitting me and tell me the truth. Again, he admitted what I already knew. He didn’t like the chair anymore. It wasn’t as comfortable as he initially thought. I f-bombed him up and down and around the corner, called him Goldilocks, and told him that he better return it before we missed the return window again. Mind you, we still hadn’t sold the first chair.

Before we even left the house to return the second chair, he had found a third chair online and began excitedly showing me pictures of it. I told him that I didn’t care what he bought, I just didn’t want to get emotionally involved because the other two chairs didn’t last and this third one probably wouldn’t either. After a long, dramatic day, filled with loading one chair into the car to return it and lugging another downstairs for a potential buyer, we were chair-less.

With the first chair sold and the second returned, the third chair was blindly ordered from Amazon, which is probably the worst way to pick out a recliner ever, believe me I know. Try telling him that. He insisted that he knew what he wanted now and so he ordered the chair. It arrived in an enormous box on our doorstep, entirely blocking the front door. You can imagine how pleased I was when I came home and couldn’t even get into my own house because of this stupid-ass box. The box was wider than the front door, so I couldn’t even try to maneuver it into the house. I texted my husband to let him know and he asked me if I could open the garage door and put the box in there until he got home. I told him to go fuck himself.

After all was said and done, he didn’t like this chair either. Big surprise. At this point, I don’t even remember what was wrong with it and I don’t care. All I know is that it was no good and I refused to help him return it. He somehow managed to lug that giant box to the UPS store to send it back. Then, he resumed the search once again.

The fourth chair was ordered online yet again because someone didn’t learn his lesson the first time. All I remember is that within five minutes of setting it up, he began removing stuffing from inside the seat in an attempt to make it more comfortable. Surely, that wasn’t a good sign. I told him to do whatever he wanted but to please for the love of god leave me out of it! I was so over it. Beyond over it. Completely unamused.

Somehow, some way, the fourth chair was returned and we were chair-less once again. I insisted that he go to a store to actually sit in and test out a chair before he bought another one. Thankfully, he agreed and proceeded to drag me to three stores in one day in his relentless pursuit of the perfect recliner. Just when I thought his expectations would never be met, he finally found the fifth chair. A bit more expensive, the fifth chair appeared to be the Cadillac of recliners. I humored him and sat in it, proclaiming how comfortable and luxurious it was. He eventually decided to order it and began counting down the days to its arrival. I tried to remain open-minded, but I had very little faith in the universe at this point.

Finally, the day arrived and the chair was delivered. Although reserved at first, he seemed excited and comfortable when he sat in this new chair. As the days went by, I was surprised to find that he was still comfortably sitting in this chair with no complaints. What’s more is that he didn’t seem to be overcompensating for anything. He seemed to actually enjoy this chair. I held my breath for several more days, but then the days became weeks and still no complaints. Could it be?

We have now had the fifth chair for well over a month and he is still satisfied. As I write these words, I still can’t even believe it. The search for the perfect recliner has ended! The queen has finally found his throne! What a journey this has been! I just hope to hell that this chair is so god damn comfortable that he dies in it one day, many, many years from now.

 

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