If chairs could talk...

My goodness this is lonely. I've been standing here for eight hours and no one has paid attention to me.

A week ago, someone came and wiped me down, brushed off some crumbs and made sure I was ready for service. I like it when that happens. The people who take care of me are really nice. I have lived a hard life, but they make me feel good.

The cold is making my legs ache. They feel really hard. I wonder if someone fiddled with the thermostat again. Turning the preferred temperature down wastes energy and is not considerate of those who are unable to leave the room of their own accord.

But people generally ignore chairs, especially the ones that are a few years past construction. Two years ago, an angry boy kicked me in the legs and knocked me over. I don't know what he was mad about but I was left stranded on my back for several minutes. I have never felt so neglected. Some time after that, a toddler gnawed on my left leg – one of them anyway. His teeth left some deep marks that will probably never go away. I heard talk about having something done to get the marks fixed, but no one really cares enough to get the ball rolling on the idea.

Finally, someone entered the room. It must be Thursday, because no one comes in this early on a Friday. He's a nice guy who doesn't rock back and forth or adjust his seating regularly. He is not abusive of his chairs. I hope he will come sit on me, but he takes the ugly seat in the back. Darn.

Oh my. There's Ingrid! She's the class hottie. She sat next to me the first day of class, but sat in the back every class thereafter. I wish I could raise my hand and get her attention. I wish I had hands so she would notice me. Her pretty eyes scan the seating. I can tell she is evaluating the pros and cons of each chair. I wish for the umpteenth time that my legs didn't have toddler bite marks. She must be looking at those. Ingrid sits next to the nice guy in the ugly chair and they start chatting. Darn.

Several more people filter into the room. Some hesitate before they sit, others take a seat without a second thought. Then Big Rob enters. Big Rob played defensive lineman in high school and, from the look of things, has not been to a gym since he graduated. The floor thunders and the outer edges of his massive thorax jiggle with each step. There is one chair left in the second row. It is me. Rob takes five labored steps, catches his breath, and finishes the trek to me. I take a deep breath just before he sits down. Darn.

My legs really hurt now. I preferred it when I was lonely.