When I was 29, I was living in a rundown Victorian rental house with two friends, dating a 24 year old drummer (yeah, yeah – hindsight is 20/20), and thinking of quitting my job teaching high school English and Drama. I spent a lot of time biking around the city with my off-leash Border Collie/mutt galloping along beside me, trying to write a novel, and drinking scotch in dark divey bars. It was, in short, a free, unfocused, fuzzy period of my life, and very fun (if I recall) – but by the time my 30th birthday rolled around, I was feeling – how you say? – a little in need of some change. And despite my crappy futon and thrift shop-outfitted house, I got it into my head that I required something sophisticated and mature to furnish my new fantasy life as a sophisticated, mature 30-year-old.
Enter the Leather Club Chair (LCC).
I’d seen the LCC at the furniture store a couple of blocks from my house that winter, glistening enticingly in the window with its dark leather sheen and its solid, perfect proportions. I’d even gone so far as to go in and inquire about the price (a totally exorbitant $850, impossible at the time).
After several weeks obsessing about the chair, lusting after the chair, sketching the chair, dreaming about the chair and “accidentally” walking past the store and sitting in the chair, my parents finally took pity on me and offered to split the cost for my birthday.
It’s now been 9 years since the club chair came into my life, and it’s not going anywhere. I use it every day. The hubbo does, too. My kid uses it as a boat, a car, and a place to curl up and read with me. It’s got a few dog-scratches, yes, from the days when Sadie still jumped up on things (she’s 14 and sticks to the floor these days), and the seat cushion is definitely getting a little cracked and worn – but, like good scotch, it gets better with time.
If I suddenly woke up one day with a burning desire to get rid of all my furniture, I would probably still keep my leather club chair. My attachment is mostly rational (it will last forever, it’s classic, it gets better with time), but tinged with the irrational (I’m an adult with good taste and means! Club chairs are so chic! The chair brings me good luck!).
Wait – luck?
After the LCC came into my life, things started happening. I quit my teaching job and started my own small business, moved out of the decaying Victorian I’d been complaining about for almost 5 years, and ended it with the drummer. Then I got two literary grants for works in progress. Shortly thereafter, I started dating the man who would become my husband.
Who says a piece of furniture can’t be good luck?