It was his own fault really.
With his sister (my sister-in-law) holding a garage sale, Grumpy Pants went on one of his random clearing out of what he refers to as “crap”, yet more often than not is “stuff” that is loved, wanted, and used by others in the house. He doesn’t like it/use it/want it, thus it is deemed “crap” and is hoisted into the trailer and carted off to be sold.
This included the lovely, comfy, second (possibly third) hand outdoor chairs, one of which I had envisaged sitting in with my coffee yesterday morning. Alas, in my decaffeinated stated, I knew there was a void on the balcony, I just couldn’t determine what it was. T’was only when I went to sit I realised what the void was made up of – or, technically, what was so obviously and disconcertingly missing – that I was forced to have a tantrum.
As with a vast majority of tantrums, this did not elicit the return of the items removed (which, I might add, did not include the 30 year old bedroom suite that no one else in the house wants, the very expensive, very good television we bought before digital was a thing, nor the massively huge speakers, also some 30 years old, with ruptured rubber, and innards which can only be obtained from some obscure vintage and antique audio equipment spare parts shop in the States, which he has yet to actually purchase replacement parts for, and have no hope in hell of fitting it the house anyway … I digress).
Thus, we find ourselves out of comfy chairs in which to enjoy a quiet coffee, or moment of peace on the balcony.
The result of this was the decision to partake in a spot of Ikea-ing. In a slightly unsettling, opposite day, parallel universe type scenario, it was actually Grumpy that made this suggestion. I found myself in one of those bizarre situations;