The recline of western civilization

Who says there are no surprises left? I can't even believe I'm saying this, but I want one.

First of all, it's a chair that's named after me: La-Z-Boy. BAM! Thanks, I'll be here all week. Tip your waitress.

Actually here's what happened. My mother-in-law desperately wanted a recliner so she could fall asleep comfortably while watching either golf or Wheel of Fortune. In a completely unselfish act of kindness and a blatant attempt to score marriage points, I told her I'd be happy to take her recliner shopping. I promptly proceeded to put it off for weeks, but we finally went this past weekend.

I'll swear I heard the angel's choir as I opened the showroom door.

Entering the store was like walking into a room filled with clouds I could just float away on. Seriously, I must've tried at least fifteen more chairs than she did. Granted she's 92-years old, but I don't know how you can resist those chairs.

And just so you know, these aren't your father's recliners. They have power everything. They're heated. They give you a relaxing massage. And that's just the salesperson! (You've been a great crowd...)

My mother-in-law finally landed on a nice burgundy number that'll look just swell in her room. So basically she's about 6-8 weeks out from me visiting her a lot more often.

In a conversation with the wife I casually brought up the idea of getting a recliner. She casually brought up the idea of me getting a second wife.

So for now, I'll just have to be content to fall asleep in our comfy reading chairs, neither of which have a footrest or recline. But don't worry. I have a choose-the-lesser-evil strategy to get what I want, and I'll be taking a second run at the wife soon.

I don't want to give everything away here, but let's just say it involves the word "minivan".