I have an oddly shaped … living room. It’s L-shaped, which is not terribly odd, although I imagine it was quite a new-fangled idea when the house was built in 1911. A fireplace in the L, however, compounds the oddness, with a doorway leading to a sunroom right next to it. Bottom line is that it’s hard to arrange furniture. We have a seating area around the fireplace, but it leaves an awkward empty space at one end, which is the first thing you see as you enter the house. The solution was to make that space a solo seating spot: to put an interesting and comfortable chair there, with a table and a lamp, where, in the words of a designer friend, “you can sit with a glass of wine and contemplate life and love.” As you do.

Inspired, I spent months looking for the perfect chair, and finally found it when Ridpath’s went out of business 5 or 6 years ago: a white leather wing chair, both elegant and comfortable, and it was on sale. I had a footstool made to go with it. Everyone loved it. It was the coziest chair in the house, but … no one sat in it. Because it’s a solo seating space, you kind of have to plan to go sit there, with a book or your tablet or something to do on your own. “It’s a DESTINATION chair,” I explained to my family. “Can’t the destination be in the family room, where we could actually use a comfortable chair to sit in?” they reasonably asked (in unison, of course, as they do.) “I suppose so,” I said. “but then I’m going to have to find something else to put there.”

Of course you’re saying why not get another chair like it, aren’t you? Because I can’t. They don’t make it anymore. I could have one custom made, but that would cost as much as a vacation. A bad vacation. Anyway, to make a long story longer, I found another chair I liked, reasonably priced, but it was online. “It’s perfect!” said my designer friend, whom I blame entirely for this*, and I ordered it. Six weeks delivery from the States (I thought). I hunkered down to wait, and it arrived last Thursday.

It was horrible. Smaller than I expected. Cheap fabric, poorly upholstered, with crooked welting and deep wrinkles and a spot on the back cushion. But worst of all was the warning label I found under the cushion:

motogo-nositting1-web

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Cancer? Birth defects? What, retroactively? Can you even legally sell or export chairs that might do this? Needless to say, I wouldn’t let anyone near it, not even the dogs, who circled around it a few times, growling menacingly. Fortunately, my designer friend stepped in and arranged for it to be removed. We haven’t worked out how, if and when I’m going to get a refund, but at least my unborn grandchildren won’t have three eyes.

*No I don’t. It’s completely my fault.

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