My neighbor and good friend Marcia, a.k.a. The Principal, has in her possession a wonderful old rocking chair with fabulous carved goose neck arms. It is one of the most beautiful and comfortable old chairs I have ever encountered. The first moment I laid eyes on it I knew it was meant to be mine.
Unfortunately Marcia preferred to retain the rights to her lovely goose arm chair and I found myself chairless and out in the cold with a burning desire to acquire it that would not go away.
I wanted that chair.
I needed that chair.
I coveted that chair.
Which leads me to that little thing called the tenth commandment. "Thou shalt not covet they neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbor's."
I felt pretty good through the first 25 words of the decree. After all I didn't want Marcia's house, nor her maidservant, nor her ox, I didn't even want her, well, you know. But her chair, oh how I wanted her chair.
I knew I was screwed when I reached the "nor anything that is thy neighbor's" part.
I was risking eternal damnation because of my desire for my neighbor's fabulous goose arm rocker.
And then it occurred to me that I might get off the hook if I could locate one just like it and acquire it legally.
The hunt began.
For months I scoured the internet. Checked ebay. Craig's list. Watched the local paper for any sign of a goose arm chair for sale, or even for rent. (I was desperate.)
My search turned up empty. Apparently all of the goose arm chair owners were just like Marcia and preferred to retain their rights. And honestly, who could blame them.
And then last weekend Marcia appeared at my back door with a tiny slip of paper in hand. It was an advertisement from the local newspaper for a swan neck rocker. Could it be?
I made the call.
I scheduled a time to look at the chair.
I took Marcia along to authenticate it.
As I approached the old farmhouse my heart was beating wildly in my chest. Could it possibly be the right chair?
And there it sat in all of it's goose arm glory, faded and worn, badly in need of a little TLC and some embossed blue denim fabric.
For a mere $85 it could be mine.
The deal was sealed. The chair was gently stowed in the back of the car and I smiled the whole way home.
Upon arriving back at the cottage The Kid met me wearing a look of concern and attempted to throw cold water on my excitement.
"Maybe Marcia doesn't want you to have a chair just like hers," he said.
"Then Marcia shouldn't give me want ads," I retorted.
And just like that I'm back on track. No more worries about breaking commandments and eternal damnation.
At least not this week.