The Life of A Chair

Written for a prompt given to me by my mother. though the intended writing should have been more specific and biographical.

The Life of A Chair

The chair. A simple, basic object used daily without much thought. Defined by the importance of the sitter, and how hard said sitter’s tush is.

The chair’s humble beginnings start in a factory, as most other objects do. Each chair has its own unique story, each boasting a different experience. Some have gone through the careful polishing and painting of wood, while others recall of the molds that formed there brightly colored, spinning bodies. Either way, all chairs have the same fate.

All chairs leave the factory not knowing what they are in for. Each is excited to finally have a purpose, whether it be to add comfort at the dining table, or to seat the president in the Oval Office.

Of course, us oblivious humans wouldn’t notice a thing, because they are, after all, inanimate objects. We would just fall gracefully (or not, depends on who it is) onto the cushioned seat of our favorites chair and do whatever business we need to do, whether it be ranting about politics or carefully analyzing a report.

Either way, the chair is definitely not satisfied with its life. For starters, it must first-hand endure the many occasions on which we cut the cheese (if you have ever been on the receiving end, then you are one with the chairs). Then, there is the fact that there are many different people who sit on said chair daily, and not all of them are lightweights.

But we never hear them complaining. Had our chairs had voices and the power to string words into sentences (or have any type of vocabulary in the first place), we would have gone deaf after two weeks. “Ow, you’re sitting on my face!” “What in the world did you have for dinner, because it stinks!” “Why not go sit on him? He’s lonely!”

Yes, the life of a chair is hard. But that doesn't mean you’ll refrain yourself from that poncy brown leather one for half-off.