There was once a chair. We'll call him Mr Tullsta. He was purchased in 2000, many years ago, when two people set up house together and had to furnish a home in a hurry on a shoestring budget. He was cheap and practical but he was not comfortable. Oh no. He said, "I belong in a coffee shop or gastro pub, not a living room. I am for perching." He was too tiny, too rigid, and there was no room to curl up legs or snuggle babies, no room to stretch and lounge.
And then there was Mr Poang. He was purchased for a nursery. He'll be wipeable and practical yet comfortable too, and just perfect for feeding babies, they thought. But no. Mr Poang was no good for feeding babies, he was much too laid back. While he is a strong, sturdy chair with a nice bounce, he is not for lounging or snuggling either. His wooden arms do not say "Stay awhile."
Then along came Ms Strandmon.
Her magnificent wings give her an authority and mid-century glamour which appeals to the man of the house. as did her extremely wallet-friendly price. The lady of the house likes her lines and shape, her soft, pale colour, and dresses her up with throws and cushions. She is firm enough to sit up straight and read in, wide enough to curl up legs and sew, deep enough to lean back with a cup of tea and sigh. She lives under a sunny, south facing window next to a basket of yarn and is much loved by all. The man checks his emails there. The woman sews, knits, crochets, and checks her phone there. The children sprawl and flop and read. "Stay awhile," says Ms Strandmon. "Stay awhile and rest. Bring your cup of tea or glass of red wine. (But do not spill them please for I am very pale.)"
She is practically perfect.
She is just right.