Oh man, my dad's seat. If anyone is sitting in this seat when my dad comes into the TV room he will promptly tell you to move. This is his mother fucking seat. No one sits in this. I can't even sit in this seat. Guests get away with it, but that's because they don't know better.
I don't even think anyone else in the family likes to sit in this seat. Don't get me wrong, the Eames lounge chair is The Lounge Chair but it will never be My Lounge Chair. It is Tata's lounge chair. My dad has his soul imprinted on this seat. When I walk into the room and see my sister or by some freak accident, my mom sitting in it, everything becomes unbalanced. For one, nobody looks good sitting in it but my dad. For a lounge chair found in museums, you would think everyone looked good when they leaned back against the leather. Not so. I never see my mom siting in it. I honestly can't tell you if I have ever seen her sitting in it besides the day she picked it up. She had been so excited about it but never sits in it. I don't get it. How has this seat become my dad. I really don't like sitting in it either. A general feeling of 'this is wrong' sets in immediately when I put my butt down.I like the suede couch that Chris slept on when he would visit from Sacramento. The one that could be a little wider but only because I want to slouch sometimes. That's a great couch. It's not a lazy squishy couch, you can't sink into it or fall between the cushions. It's a rigid suede rectangle. You sit up and watch what you have to watch and get up because you have to do something important, which is never the case but I get that attitude from it. If couches or any sort of seating could have attitude.
