The Cuddler

August 7, 2024

We wandered into a consignment store and there it was -- a two-person "Cuddler" vibrating Contour lounge chair. As seen on TV.

We had to buy it.

Must...Cuddle...

But when the Cuddler was delivered, it had that old furniture smell, the reek of a 1980s attic.

We tried some home remedies, but it wasn't enough.

We started going through the options. We could call around for quotes and estimates on deep cleaning; or find storage for the Cuddler until I could do it myself; or rely on YouTube to learn a new hobby of furniture reupholstery.

To make matters worse, just as the Cuddler arrived, I came down with Covid.

That meant I had to isolate with the Cuddler until we could figure it out.

That night, in my fever, I envisioned the Cuddler as Gregor Samsa transformed into an insect in Kafka's Metamorphosis, "his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections."

Wait, I know how that story ends!

I don't want to end up like Gregor Samsa, either individually, or as a couple.

The Cuddler had to go.

I spent the weekend alone on the Cuddler.

Eleven movies* interspersed with Olympic highlights.

Comfortable enough, but I've sat on better.

If we owned a big house in the suburbs, we could allot spaces for each purpose, with separate offices, hobby rooms, reading rooms, libraries, music rooms, and more.

But we live in the city.

Convention City**.**

We do as the Convention Center does.

1. Set-up for an event.

2. Have the event.

3. Move-out, leaving bare walls.

That's the plan for our media room: Keep it open. Keep it flexible.

A tatami mat, a futon, and a pile of pillows.

Or a yoga mat.

Or a simple chair and a music stand.

Or a synthesizer atop a keyboard stand.

Or a dropcloth, an easel, and a studio taboret.

Or a portable tap dance board.

Instead of dedicating our media room to consumption, we're preserving space for creativity.

The movers arrived to take the Cuddler away, back to the consignment store.

The smell dissipated. We can breathe again. Back to work.

* Every P. T. Anderson film except for Inherent Vice and Phantom Thread; Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote and State and Main; Kurosawa's Scandal; and Witches of the Orient, a documentary about the 1964 Japanese Olympic volleyball team (NYT review, gift article).