Can We Call It Even?

After 429 posts, I can't recall if I've ever asked someone's permission to blog about them.  I've certainly withheld certain compromising photos-- nothing obscene, just people looking goofier than they would like to be portrayed on the worldwide web.  But GAIL has given me the go-ahead on what could have raised some people's sensitivity radar.

Perhaps you've heard the story-- probably apocryphal-- of the husband (or sometimes it's a little boy) who accidentally on- purpose breaks enough dishes that the wife/mother finally yields and removes the offender from dishwashing duty.

Now for the tie-in to today's blog.  A couple of decades ago, Gail got some new living room furniture and asked me if I could store one of the old chairs that had a broken leg.  She might want to repair it someday.  Since her requirements were not very specific, I chose to store the chair in the front seat of Judy's classic 1964 Plymouth Fury (some of you long-time Southern Pines residents may have eaten some of her dust in the early '70's-- that thing had a 361 V-8 with power to spare).  But I digress (that's what bloggers do).  There was no reason to disturb the chair for all those years.  Trees had even grown up around the car, like thistles and briars around Sleeping Beauty's castle.

Well, this week, when a friend and I went to inspect the car, we had difficulty even getting a door open (well, it only took us two days).  I removed three old tires that need to be recycled.  In order to get to the owner's manual in the glove compartment, it would be necessary to move the afore-mentioned chair.  In order to remove said chair, it was likewise necessary to somewhat alter or compress the chair-- to squeeze it over the seat and out the one rear door we had managed to open.

Well, at this point the chair was in somewhat worse shape than just having one broken leg.  And the upholstery was none the better for having lain in that car for 20 years.  So, I sort of peeled the cushioning off to see what I was dealing with.  My untrained appraisal was that the remains of the chair were not very promising.  With some diligent wiggling and jiggling, some of the posts worked loose.  This chair was obviously unstable.  Even the arms couldn't stand up to some modest stomping.

I was very sorry that Gail's chair had not held up to these tests.  But I felt better since I had never billed Gail for even ONE month of storage in all that time.  And in a surge of magnanimity, I determined that I would not charge her a disposal fee, either.  And though it's not easy being green, I finally found a way to recycle all but the cushions. 

I confirmed by e-mail that Gail was in agreement with all these proceedings.  And I also revealed to her (as I have not yet to you, dear reader) the snakeskin of a five-foot black rat snake that was found in close proximity to her chair.

So Gail and I have agreed to call it even.  For Gail, no more chair.

But also (and this is important) no fees for either storage or disposal.

I suppose you might want to see my recycling solution.

Yes, Gail.  We're even.

But soon, on some chilly morning, Judy and I will be ahead!