I’ve learned many lessons this week, but none more important than the fact that I am too old to sit in a jelly lounge chair.
Do we all know what a jelly chair is? Those strappy, armless, low-slung lounge chairs in a dazzling array of tantalizingly bright colors? Easy to fold up into equal thirds and tote to the beach? On sale at Target for the irresistibly low price of $18.00? Well friends, some deals ARE too good to be true.
I chose the red one, of course. The perfect match to my festive patio rug. “This is pretty!” remarked my observant Target cashier. (As a side note, this is the same gal who once, while ringing up my purchase of four limes, said, and I quote: “Oooh limes! Whatcha makin’? Limeade?”) At any rate, I agreed with her that my jelly lounge was indeed pretty and I carted it out to my car. Then I toted it up the steps to my third floor apartment and set it up on balcony, admiring how it matched my rug. Then I sat down and reclined fully into my new seat. This is where my important lesson began.
Did I mention the fact that jelly lounges are armless and low-slung?
I think we’ve all watched a bug that has managed to flip itself on its back. The struggle is riveting. We watch with a combination of fascination and pity. That bug is doomed. It’s never going to get back on its feet again. We basically have two choices in this situation. We can help the poor bug by flipping it back upright, if we are inclined to touch a bug and if we weren’t planning on squishing it anyway. Or we can pretend we didn’t see it and walk away because it’s too uncomfortable to continue watching the doomed struggle.
I’m hoping my neighbor directly across from my balcony, if he was home, chose the latter. And I might mention here that my new dog Lilly, who I myself rescued just six short days ago, also chose the latter. She was no help whatsoever. At any rate, this bug struggled in that damn jelly chair for about a full ten minutes. Ultimately, I ended up rolling onto all fours onto my festive patio rug. The jelly chair, which was basically enmeshed in my butt at this point, came with. I got up, told Lilly that if she were stuck somewhere, I would for sure help HER, and wordlessly folded the jelly lounge back into equal thirds and carried it back down to my car.
I have not yet decided how I will answer the inevitable question asked by any customer service representative when one attempts to make a return: “Was there anything wrong with it?”
My important lesson is this: While it is delightful to discover the many wondrous things that one can see while one is sitting down, it is equally important that one can get back up.