The Ex's Chair
On The Eve of Our 35th Anniversary
Weeks ago she found the blonde Bernhardt chair on Facebook marketplace
and instantly fell in love (her aunt in St. Louis with exquisite taste swears
by the brand). The seller-feller asked too much though, so she haggled him
down to still too much but better (we have exquisite taste, but I’m a poet).
I proposed Our anniversary’s soon. How about that be our gift to each other?
She smiled, we visited the ATM (cash only), and off to the races we dashed.
A rather un-exquisite looking man met us out by the garage and the cash
exchanged hands. She beamed at the blonde and curiously asked about this
particular Bernhardt’s history. At this point an equally un-exquisite woman
walked out by the garage to join our moment. He took a breath and sighed.
I needed to get rid of it. It actually belonged to my ex. Another sigh and then bye.
I drove off next to my exquisite wife (of thirty-five years tomorrow) and our new-
old exquisite ex’s chair. All that is gold does not glitter and sometimes matches
don’t make. But every now and then a blonde Bernhardt is worth the withdrawl,
a reminder to give thanks to the Grace that shelters deep love from life’s frost.
Unreal, my friend.
“We have exquisite taste, but I am a poet.”
A year or so ago we found an old teak patio set, the stain on the chairs rubbed away by good conversations.
They sold it to us on the cheap — they needed to get rid of it because the husband had lost his job and they couldn’t afford to live in the city anymore.
And just about every meal I eat there, with my wife and sons, is revolt against the kind of world that despises table and rejoices in profit driven evictions.
First of all, that chair is beautiful. Secondky, I get it as I am decluttering from my recent divorce after 25 years.