My Chair or Why My House Really Needs Me

Hello, friends!  I doubt I am going to see anyone here this early.  I realized many moons ago that the Universe (or insert whatever higher power you may believe in) works in mysterious ways.  I have been a bit stressed out and it was suggested that I get at least 2 hours of space time this weekend.  So, the powers had a meeting (I imagine all the top powers – God, Yahweh, Allah, Buddah, etc) to sit at a long conference table ala Justice League), where they go over requests.  One of them got my spiritual request form that probably simply said, “PLEASE.  JUST 2 HOURS!” and said, “Wake that girl up!”  So at 4:40 this morning I awoke, unable to go back to sleep.  Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?  I think the better question would be who would gift me a horse?  Any ways, thanks Powers Justice League, good looking out.

Yesterday I realized how much my household needs me and it came in the shape of my chair.  Now, I have a chair I like to sit in; it’s my favorite chair of the house and I really can’t figure out why.  I usually don’t sit in it like a normal person, I tend to get into all these twisted positions like I am trying out for Cirque De Soleil.  Or I like to pretend to be a ninja.  Really, here is some proof.


I think my hair kind of gives me away, but sssssshhhh.  I am in ninja mode.

We moved recently (like a few months back) and I wanted to do something I had never done before.  I wanted to try and stay organized.  Anyone who knows me knows how daunting of a task this is, as organization for me usually entails throwing all papers into one pile, so on and so forth.  This time though I had a plan.  I sat down the household and told them I had fixed all the house issues with one erasable tool:  The Whiteboard.

Now, whiteboard lives on the freezer, because if there is one place everyone goes to is the refrigerator.  It’s that or the bathroom, but I figured it wouldn’t really be the best placed in there.  So, determined and armed with a handful of whiteboard markers, I began my quest for keeping up on things (this whole thing is entirely selfish.  I just want to feel more normal).  Here it is, in all it’s glory!


Don’t try to read my writing.  It isn’t pretty and was my worst grade in school.  

I washed my hands proudly; I had finally done it!  I had solved life’s problems with a whiteboard and everything was going to be June fricken Cleaver in my household from this day forth!  Here is what they didn’t tell me as they all silently gathered to look at the new addition.  To them the sign read this way:


This one is harder to see, but just a tip – it’s all the same name, and it is not theirs.

Of course, they would never admit that.  So this week, I did not have laundry.  Laundry in my mind is a few steps.

  • Gather Clothes.
  • Place closes in metal box and insert soap like substance.
  • Close door to metal box (this one is VERY important).
  • Move dial to appropriate setting and start metal box.
  • Go back upstairs and wait until it is time to put into the other metal box that sits right next to it.
  • Probably eat a snack
  • Wait to be reminded to go put the clothes into the other metal box.
  • Move clothes into other metal box.
  • Close the door.
  • Turn dial to appropriate setting and start metal box 2.
  • Repeat steps 5-7.
  • Get warm clothes (though most likely cold due to waiting to be reminded) and bring them upstairs.

The household is getting the hang of those steps, but here is where communication breakdown fails.  They feel their job is done once those clothes come upstairs.  I feel that they should be folded and put into people’s rooms.  Here is how they like to prove me wrong.  The clothes come upstairs and this is where they end up:


Insert scream.

Of all the places in the living room, the other chair, the couch, the coffee table, it’s my chair.  This is their message to me.  They may allow me my whiteboard, but this is how they will pay me back for it.  Now, you would think that this would be a momentary lapse; that eventually they will fold the clothes if laundry is their chore for the week.  No, friend.  This is a well thought out play by them to ensure I fold the clothes.  They know I won’t sit anywhere else, so in order to sit, I have to move the clothing.  I also will not throw them in a pile on the ground so in order to take such artful pictures such as the ones I am about to show you, I will have to fold them.


Yes, I am hanging sideways off the chair.


This is how I look when I am deciding my next ninja like plan.  Not obvious, right?

I have tried to explain the rules of laundry to them, but bless their souls, they just can’t seem to get passed step 12.  I have forgiven them, knowing one day, when they have long moved out, they will call me in a panic when after 4 weeks there is just a big pile of clothes in a chair of their apartment that have never been folded.

I think the only one who has figured out that I know their plan is Girl 1.  Upon entering the house last night she saw me taking a picture of my chair, full of cold clothing and asked me why I was taking a picture of the chair.  I told her I needed it and left it at that.  Upon re-entering the living room, this is what I found:


Again, it’s small, but it is Girl 1, with clothes in her hand, folding.  

One out of three isn’t bad, friends.



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3 responses to “My Chair or Why My House Really Needs Me

  1. Kevin

    I woulda smacked the shit outta them…made them all come in and fold that shit and explained to them that it all needs to be done in one cycle…not stoping after taking them out the dryer…but im glad lena finally got a hint from it…now if only the rest of them could…

  2. You do have a real passive aggressive household. I don’t know if I’d smack them. I’d definitely find my own passive aggressive payback.

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