Hazel

What is the essence of a comfortable chair?

Is it the consistency of it's stuffing, the supportive lift of it's foam flesh? The specific way it buttresses our posteriors?

Perhaps its the upholstery. Leather (or faux) is durable and stylish, yet sticky on the backs of legs and occasionally inhumane. Plushy fuzz is delightfully soft on a bare bottom (tee hee) yet acts like a sponge for filth, which is, of course, the reason one should avoid seating the bare bottom upon them. Suede scuffs like an infant's skin, and is best avoided where boisterousness may ensue.

Maybe comfort is in the color. Do we revel in seats shrouded with scintillating stain? Or possibly we picture ourselves as others see us, seated on our fashionable accessory. Fashion screams wealth, which is why so many good folks want $300 for a used La-Z-Boy on Craigslist.

My chair is comfy, and I know why. From it's vantage, I am assured my favorite view: my wife's eyes. Whether they grace me with the steeple brow of tired patronization or squint with frustrated confusion, I will see them from my chair. Rest assured, in a troubled world. And that is comforting.