In the spirit of Miley Cyrus' "7 Things I Hate About You," which I watched her perform live on this morning's Today show, I present "7 Things That I Hate About This Chair:"
1. The seller says this is "faux velvet," but I don't think I knew velvet could go faux. I knew it could go cheap and be made out of cotton or polyester when it would have been significantly nicer out of silk, but it's still velvet. Just shit velvet. Which might not have sounded as good in the ad. 2. The seller's selling because he's "getting married, fiance won't let me keep them." So this chair's being listed by a total pussy. 3. It reminds me of the word "rockabilly," which I haven't had to deal with since I was working at Sam Goody and everyone who drifted in wanted "that new Squirrel Nut Zippers album!" 4. It has red trim you can't see in the photo, and the seller's actually boasting this detail. 5. The seller says he "paid over $1600 to have [it] shipped to me in Vegas," which tells me this chair is coming from the home of a total fucking idiot because he thought he wouldn't be able to find this in VEGAS. 6. Those weird little feet. 7. It comes with this ottoman:
There's this dog at the dog park that is part chihuahua and part pug, except the DNA strands were all, "Ewww, cooties" and refused to mingle. So they tried to split the difference. As a result, the dog got a small chihuahua head and then the body of the largest, tubbiest, ottomaniest pug you've ever seen. The biggest dog lover at the park is actually scared to pet this dog, that's how alarming he looks. I intend to get a picture of the dog the next time he shows, and this post will be infinitely better once that happens, but in the meantime, he is not shaped unlike this chair:
I'm sure this is some kind of very advanced chair for Rolphing, but if I were to walk into the pictured home and it behaved like that in front of me, a total stranger, I'd have to suspect the family of sexual abuse.
Just as throwing a white slipcover over a chair apparently makes it "shabby chic," it seems that throwing a primitive, hobby painted sun on a generic chair makes it "tribal" and "African." Says the seller, "Great for a Jungle writer!" Can't you see Rudyard Kipling's ass planted here?
It's not that this chair is so criminally ugly that it deserves to be amongst the others. Because it's not even really a chair. It's a pool toy. I don't expect that it would go in a house, that it would be viewed through anything other than the amber-hued lens of summertime whimsy.
But the seller's totally either bullshitting the Craigslist crowd or she's been huffing undiluted chlorine, writing that this is a "CLASSY hot pink inflatable arm chair." Classy in CAPS. Classy like the "classy" the female suitors toss around to describe themselves when wooing Bret Michaels on Rock of Love. The seller goes on to suggest that you might want to put this chair in a "high-end, traditionally decorated sitting room." It's going to look great mixed in with your antique Chippendale set for sure.
And then, just in case you're still not seeing the classy, she does some very "high-end" modeling for you.
The thing about this chair that's genius is the swiveling disc it rests on, allowing the piece to spin 360 degrees, because when you first sat down in it at Wickes Furniture in Orlando, circa 1984, you were like, "Ha, ha! Look at this ugly chair!" and then the salesman came by and inconspicuously put some force into the back of the chair, and suddenly you were spinning, getting so dizzy, so fucked up, and you couldn't think straight and a severely jostled part of your brain was saying, "Hey, maybe this would be fun to have in the living room? Kind of wild? Kind of kicky?" And then the chair was slowing, except the colors still appeared to be whipping around you, as if you were unbelievably still rotating, and you became so disoriented that you pulled out your American Express and sloppily signed the delivery order and then, to your great bewilderment, it arrived the next day at your condo?