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Love Letter To My Chair

Daily Editor and Baby Bwogger, Lauren Kahme, declares her undying love for the most comforting and intrinsically good chair on campus.  

Some people meet their soulmates in serendipitous, movie-esque moments; others utilize the vortex of shallow dating apps to swipe their sorrows away. My first encounter with my Love was unlike anything I could dream of fathoming.

‘Twas the eve of the second to last day until registration for classes closed, and I was determined to solidify my schedule. On a whim, I registered for a sociology class; it had limited but evident space, I was desperate, and we all made it work. Never before had I felt such gratitude toward fate, for it was my faith in the universe (and my slight begging of the professor to confirm my access to the course) that led me to meet my One True Love.

Practically skipping out of the depths of Milbank, I marinated in the sweet relief that my schedule could be finally finalized. My type-A personality, found in 80%* of students on campus, was satiated at last. I shoved through the double doors from the farthest southwest stairwell in that classic old building to lead me to the main corridor of classrooms when–BAM–I slammed my knee into the corner of an obstruction in my path. Exclaiming indecent words, I cursed out this hard-edged chair while simultaneously taking a seat in it to recover. The plush interior enveloped my fresh throbbing injury, and I sensed the apologetic demeanor that welled up and out of the cushions when I sat down. Or maybe that was a cloud of dust from never being sat on in 30 years. Either way, I knew we had a connection, and I knew that our rocky start was simply a fluke. This would be the start of a beautiful partnership.

Every Monday and Wednesday, we have rendezvous on the second floor of Milbank at exactly 3:47 and 5:30–before and after class. My worries melt right into the fabric, my back pain dissipates into the reclining angle of the chair, and my eyes take a rest in the dim afternoon glow that streams through the window of this southwestern wing of a gloriously charismatic building. I know that my Love and my Chair will always be there for me because every time I round the corner to glance at its solid (and sometimes dangerous) arms, there is ne’er a human in sight occupying the space where my body belongs.

I do hope this love letter does not invite others to indulge in the greatness that my favorite chair provides. If you are tempted to try it, please do so at your own risk. The risk of my dirty looks is greatest between 3:45 pm and 6:00 pm.

*not based on any scientific accuracy

Milbank via Bwarchives

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