I have horrible posture. Horrible.
I can try to remember to stand up straight and sit straight at the beer or dinner table, but at my desk… Horrible.
Not wanting to be hunchbacked by 50, I decided a kneeling chair was worth trying. It’s really hard to slouch on a kneeling chair.
It arrived this afternoon. The Boy is at work.
Obi inspected the elements as I went to find a screwdriver. Tools? Maybe we should wait for The Boy, the brown kitten suggested. This looks like man’s work.
Pish, I said. I mentioned that I owned a home before The Boy. I lived alone. I built my last desk. Oliver flipped his ears back, remembering the cussing, crying and bloodshed of that night.
If I was going through with this, they would supervise… From a distance.
All I had to do was bolt the pads onto the frame and put on the casters. It took ten minutes and I only mushed my fingers once. Okay, twice.
Once I left the room, they inspected my work.
We’ll see, they said. But maybe The Boy should check it when he gets home.
In case you’re wondering, I’ve been sitting in the chair while I wrote this blog. And I’m sore already, but it’s the sore of a person who doesn’t use her back muscles to sit up straight. I’m optimistic.