I Whined Because I Had No Feet, And Then I Met A Man Who Tried To Kill Me With New Feet

One day last week, I was grousing about my seat at the kitchen table. You know, because I'm a grouser by nature. When something displeases me, it is known! I do it all the time, whether Farmer H is here or not. It usually concerns something he has done (shocking, I know).

Anyhoo... our kitchen table is my mom's old kitchen table. It's wood, with wooden chairs. The chairs have metal feet, which can leave marks on the linoleum with repeated use. Farmer H had put pads on the metal feet. Which work fine, except that they don't STAY on the metal feet. Well. All but one of them do. 

For months, there's been the right front foot on my chair that comes loose. So every time I get up and move the chair out of the walking area, that foot pad is off. When I come back to the table, I have to pick up the chair and set it back down on the foot pad, then maneuver it carefully into the position where I want to sit. This becomes tedious after doing it many times a day, week after week, month after month.

"I am SO tired of lifting this chair to put it back on its foot!"

Nothing I haven't said before. Farmer H was in his recliner in the living room. I didn't expect that he heard me. Not that it would matter. I've told him to his face at least five times, as he walks in the kitchen door, that his chair feet pads are not working for me.

Imagine my surprise when he came in the next week saying,

"I've got feet for your chair whenever you get up off it."

Ah, the language of love. Such a wonderful way to say he's thinking of me. I went on about my business later that afternoon. Had my 20 minute nap, showered, went to town. After fixing Farmer H's supper, I went back to the table with my scratchers. I pulled the chair out, expecting to have to search for that wayward foot pad. But the chair slid easily!

TOO EASILY!

My kitchen chair (as well as Farmer H's, I saw) now had white plastic foot pads. They slid like a puck across a hockey rink! I was afraid to sit down! Because, you know, chairs like to slide out from under me, and I don't have a fast reaction time to recover. In fact, The Pony stands behind the chair to brace it when I sit down at the grill in the casino, or on a wheely chair at a property closing. It's because my knees barely bend to 90 degrees. I get mostly into sitting position, but then I have to plop the rest of the way down.

I suspect this might be another of Farmer H's attempts to kill me! Who would ever suspect such a plot? It was merely a husband upgrading his wife's chair feet...

I positioned the chair just right. Put my left hand on the chair back, and my right hand on the kitchen table. I tried to be ready to abort the mission at the last minute, should I sense a slide before my rumpus reached the seat. Thankfully, there was minimum slide-age. But then I realized I had to get up!

The getting up was actually scarier than the sitting down. Because that chair could scoot backwards as I had my left hand on the back, and throw me off balance before I was standing. I sat there about five minutes, dreading, planning. I made it! At least the chair seems more stable when getting up than sitting down.

Of course I discussed my concerns with Farmer H. Who replied: "Huh." Not sure if that was his typical response for not giving a fat rat's patootie, or an expression of disappointment for his failed plot.