The Devil Builds Furniture

When I moved into my first Chicago apartment, the first apartment in which I lived alone I mean, I bought the standard "bachelorette" furniture: Futon (as my bed and my couch), papasan chair, and a $30 bookcase from Target. Fast forward 5 years and I still have all of that stuff. The Targo loves - repeat, LOVES - the papasan chair. It completes him. Every weekend morning, he wakes up around 7:00 and migrates from the bedroom to the papasan chair and falls asleep to some random Tivo. So when the beloved papasan chair broke and became much less comfortable, the Targo? He was ever so heartbroken.

We decided to bite the bullet and buy a grown up chair. I should really put that in quotes, because we still shopped for the chair at Target. Anyway, we found one we liked and bought it.

TA-DA!

That night, the Targo started to assemble it. I quickly ran and hid in the bedroom because he is known to sprout horns and cloven feet whenever he works with electronics or assembles anything. I hear cursing and much swearing at the cats. "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS RIGHT THERE!" he would scream at Magic. So, I would rescue the cats and again flee.

The Targo went over the edge and did not finish building the chair that night. I was kind enough to put the footstool together the next day (God bless, the inventor of the Allen Wrench... I'm sure his name is Allen.). And we built the chair together that night. All of this effort and aggravation, you think the Targo would put the papasan chair out to pasture? Heck no! It's still his weekend residence. And the new chair? Well, I have yet to sit in it. Apparently when I wage war with an 8 lb. black and white cat, I'm destined to lose.