Ode to a chair.

There is a chair in the staff room at work. It was donated by a grateful patient for use by the nurses. It makes up for everything bad that could possibly happen at work.

This is the best chair ever. I might love this chair even more than I love my bed. And that’s a lot.

It is a massage chair. And not one of those vibrator pads you tie to another chair. This is a big, soft, leather recliner that feels as if it has three Swedish masseurs inside it. I call it Sven.

Sven will knead, pummel, or effleurage. He will just do shoulders and neck, middle back, lower back, or all three. He will strategically prod your buttocks while you recline and converse, and believe me, this is a good thing. There are two channels in the footrest where you insert your legs, and Sven will squeeze them gently in a pleasantly ergonomic manner. Sven is comparable to nothing else in the world that one can do while fully clothed, in broad daylight, in a room full of people.

I had one of those knots in my neck today, you know the kind where you can’t shoulder check safely when driving. I took my afternoon coffee break with Sven. I almost didn’t make it back to work. Thankfully, Sven has a timer, and I set it before I sat down, because once I was there, I lost all will power. I mean, it just melted away, right along with the stress.

If I had Sven at home, I would have to retire, just to spend more time with him.

Unfortunately, my knot is back, and I am seriously thinking about going to work just a little early tomorrow. A date with Sven should start the day off right.


About therapeuticrambling

I am a wife, a mom, a nurse, a writer. I enjoy laughing.
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