I ordered a leather chair today, as a gift to myself for my 58th birthday later this month. A chair for reading. And when I say a chair, I mean a chair — it’s not terrifically large & its lines are simple, but it’s the sort of chair you you have to special order & have built to your specifications. I looked at about a hundred leather samples this morning & going strictly on look & feel chose nearly the most expensive one. Fuck it — 58 is creeping me out slightly. It won’t be ready for about six weeks, so I will have time to rearrange my work room to accommodate it.
Update: Ooops! I’m only turning 57. Hope this doesn’t mean I have to cancel the order for the chair. 57 isn’t creeping me out quite as much as when I thought I was turning 58. The even numbers are the worst.