I fell in love with recliner chairs about thirty years ago. Growing up there was no recliner in our house, and if there were there would have been bloody battles over who got to sit in it. Unless of course, Dad was home. Then he would sit in it. But alas, Dad never popped for a recliner while I lived in his house. So there were no bloody battles and no Dad bellowing at us to get the hell out of his chair. Since that first chair that I bought back in 1986, I have had a number of them. They take quite a beating and I have to replace them regularly. Yesterday was the day the big red recliner in my living room met its end. After being bathed in dog slobber, spilled cocktails, and dirt being ground in by my big ass over the years, I had to dump it. So I dismantled the chair and took it out to the curb for bulk trash day. As I pulled the back part of the chair apart from the seat, a large pile of stuff hit the floor. Stale nuts, pieces of candy, desiccated grapes, and lots of change. Quarters, dimes, and pennies came tumbling out. After dragging the chair out front for the garbage truck, I returned with the broom and dust pan to pick up all that junk that fell out of the cushions. But it wasn't there. Mark had swept it all up while I was out front. Or so I thought, until Chandler puked up this....
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