In our fourth month of dating, Gregg and I went to Office Max to buy supplies–back-to-school binders and post-its and dry erase markers for me, pens and notebooks for him. This was a date.
We realize our dork factor is high.
We also realize that we belong together because of said dorkiness (among other endearing qualities).
The other day—incidentally, the two year anniversary of our first date—we stopped in Office Max to look at micro sd cards (him) and pretty folders and pens (me).
Across the room, a simple, classy chair sat, ready to roll on home with me. I walked towards it, taking in the cream colored faux leather and the slim profile. As I settled into its supportive seat, I suddenly knew what my home office had been missing.
I needed this chair. For the ergonomics, of course. I’ve been using a wicker chair stacked with several old decorative pillows, which fit in with my cottagey, beachey aesthetic, but proved to be less than comfortable for long stretches of time.
I sat in the chair in the middle of Office Max. Its pleather arms and back wrapped around me.
“How do I look?” I asked Gregg as I swiveled around.
“That chair is you.”
And on sale.
In true deliberative Dr. J style, I left Office Max without the chair, but with a packet of my favorite pens (Pilot V Razor Point Extra Fine, Black).
And returned the next to buy the chair. My chair.
Isn’t it pretty? and Professional?
I expect to think and write many thoughtful and frivolous words and essays and blogs and poems here, fashionably supported.