This post is about a lawn chair. But to really get the story, I need to give you context. Last weekend, I dragged my husband to an Arts Festival with my parents for Father’s Day. It was a great day, but I burned. I burned from Seattle sun.
My cousin is getting married in Hawaii soon, and I realized that I can’t be this pale and go to Hawaii. I haven’t flirted with the sun in five years, and my skin is like a burn magnet. So, on Saturday, I woke up with the mad idea that I needed a lawn chair, so I could get a little tan, so that I don’t burn on the first day of Hawaii.
So I managed to convince my husband he needed to go with me and we went to Fred Meyers. I asked about my budget for this lawn chair, and he said $20.
Of course they didn’t have anything that cheap at Fred Meyers. So we went to Walmart. Here’s where it gets a little more interesting. Thanks for sticking around to get to a little more interesting.
Guess how much the lawn chair we found cost? $20. Exactly. Not $19.99 or $21.99. No. $20. Exactly. Really, husband? Do you always have to be exactly right?
We finally get this lawn chair home. Here it is, in fact:
And I put on a bikini from our honeymoon (no picture of that madness), which I will never again wear in public, because five years ago me was much more daring, apparently.
I get the chair all ready. Get the towels laid down. My husband is watching this with what I suspect is amusement. I sit down on the chair…
And it collapses. Like all the way. I fell on my back, and I couldn’t even get up because I was laughing so hard. It hurt. But man, was it funny. The stupid lawn chair. Revenge is a lawn chair’s bloodline.
I learned a valuable lesson over the weekend. Next time I think I have a brilliant idea, just stay home. Just stay home. Just stay home.
Have you ever been attacked by a lawn chair? Please tell me I’m not alone.