“Fix you up in a jiffy,” she said. “The single-person occasional chairs are right this way.”
Single person? Hah.
The associate was unaware of the invisible gang that trailed behind me, crashing into my peace of mind. The associate turned a sharp corner, a little too fast.
Achy Dawn collapsed onto a coffee table. “Crap. My knee.”
Diva Dawn rolled her eyes. “You should have stayed home. You’re such a pain.”
Yoga Dawn said, “Pain is a messenger. It's saying get off that knee.”
The associate wheeled around when she heard me crash. “You okay ma’am?”
I said, “Uh, yes. I think I need to walk a little slower.”
The associate sped off, while Goofy Dawn got distracted by an overstuffed linebacker-sized contraption with cup holders, corn dog dispenser, and a built-in cooler. At least I could rest my knee—it was going to take a minute before the associate realized she’d misplaced me.
Achy Dawn: “My feet don’t touch the ground. I’ll break a hip trying to get in and out of this thing.”
Yoga Dawn: “I need proper alignment. Lumbar support. Shoulders back. Chest out. Head above shoulders. Shoulders above hips.”
Goofy Dawn: “Wow. It’s a fort. Put a blanket over my head, and give me a flashlight.”
Diva Dawn: “Flashlight in a fort? Give me a spotlight on a stage. Blanket? I don’t do blanket.”
The associate circled back and gave me a hand up. “I think we might find a better fit.”
I said, “I like to sit up straight when I watch TV.”
She said, “Try this wing chair.”
Achy: “Get me out of here. This is killing my tailbone.”
Diva: “It’s ugly. I don’t do ugly.”
I said to the associate, “It’s a little too stiff.”
She replied, “We have a nice soft one. More plush than this, and it comes with an ottoman.”
I sank in. “Oh, this is a lot better. Thank you.”
Yoga: “Not bad. I might need a couple of props. But … possible.”
Achy: “Hmmm. Maybe. Maybe.”
Goofy: “If you sit on the footstool, it’s like NASCAR.” She made downshifting noises.
I backed off to picture the set in my family room. It would fit nicely. The upholstery was taupe, beige, and tan in a subtle plaid.
Diva: “I don’t do plaid.”
I asked the associate, “Do you have anything with lumbar support?”
“Why, yes. We do. A wonderful recliner.”
I eased in to a power recliner with electric lumbar controls.
Diva: “Oooh. Leather. I definitely do leather.”
I pressed the lumbar button. The chair back puffed up to conform to the shape of my lower spine.
Yoga, Diva, Goofy, Achy, and I: “Oh my gawd. Oh yes. Don’t stop, don’t stop. Ohgawd-ohgawd-ohgawd don’t stop.”
The associate arched her eyebrow.
I powered up the footrest. As my feet rose, the chair tilted backward, reshaping my spine’s S curve into a V.
Yoga: “Oh dear. Now my alignment’s off. Sorry. This doesn’t work for me.”
The associate pointed out a fetching little non-powered lumbar-supporting rocker over in the corner.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I said. “I’ve got to go home and sit down.”