To all the women out there with their shit ~marginally~ together, this is an ode to our most loyal of companions through life.
She who has stood by us through thick and thin – rushed mornings, last minute plans, first dates, stressful meetings, job interviews. All of it.
She’s the inanimate object dear to our hearts that plays one of the most important, nay, crucial roles in our day-to-day existence: ensuring our clean clothes are… housed, albeit temporarily.
I’m talking, of course, about The Chair *cue angelic music*.
We (and by “we”, I mean the women who keep screwed up receipts in their bag and probably avoid wearing white) all have The Chair.
But it’s not, I repeat: not for sitting. That would be… sacrilegious.
The Chair is a step up from the floordrobe (because we are no longer teenagers), and much more elegant that the “bedrobe” (pfft, please). It exists for the storage of clothes that have just made their way back from the wash, or were recently trialled as an outfit for the day but didn’t quite make the cut, or worn once, but not dirty. They’re clean, they just haven’t found their way… home, yet.
So – like wearily stopping in at a highway motel at midnight on the way home from a roadtrip, they take up temporary residence on The Chair (or Chairdrobe, as she prefers to be called on weekends when she lets her hair down).
Andrew Garfield: Calling In Sick, A Witch & A Very Big Flirt
CANCELLED
