me + life: The Old Man Chair

Scott felt lonely one day I guess and so, took pity on this detestably-shabby and saggy chair. $10 at DI. I wasn't too upset at this spur of the moment and weird purchase, but I was appalled by the sheer DI-ness of it. DI is not my favorite place. Yes, you can find some steals there. But honestly, I have a bit of an anxiety attack every time I step through the doors. Knick-knacks, glass, clothes everything seems disheveled and though I'm sure everything gets a quick clean (maybe)...GERMS! is written on everything to me. Yuck. I won't touch Scott afterward if he's touched too many things. Cleanliness please.

But Scott loves the chair. "It's so comfortable" was uttered about fifty times. (I do agree here. It is comfortable. But that didn't make me feel better.)

"But LOOK at it!" I countered. "Who knows who could have sat in that chair?!"

"It's ok." Scott says. Then a typical male response. "I febreezed it."

I won't even go into the whole issue of men and their warped sense of "It's clean."

So I can live with the chair, but I don't have to "see" it. I made a slipcover. Goodbye old man, nursing home chair. Hello white, pure, clean, soft, pretty (and i think my new reading chair) chair.

Of course the whole process wasn't instantaneous. It took f-o-r-e-v-e-r to finish it (and there's still more to putter over and it definitely needs a good pressing.) Also, I pretty much had to wing it on construction. Nothing gave adequate and clear instructions. I raised the chair about 3 inches with pedestals, padded it with foam and batting and spent Tuesday to Friday night sewing, placing, pinning and most importantly, staring. I bet I stared at that chair for about a good 5 hours if I added it up. I went over it in my mind a million times just how I could place this piece so it would turn out ok. I even dreamed about it--who knows how many hours I would add for that. Obsessed? Stressed? Yeah. 

I thought my eyes would burn up or fall out from staring at pins and watching the fabric run through the sewing machine. I can't tell you how many times I was stabbed by a sneaky pin. I even stepped on a needle. sick.

But I finished. Done. I'm happy. Pretty proud of myself. But it'll be a looooooong time before I do that again.