This morning as I was cleaning the house, I noticed a wayward shoe under the farthest reaches of the dining room table. I tried to fish out the lone item of footwear with a skillful toe maneuver, but I could not get a good monkey-grip on it and came up empty-footed. I was going to have to get down on all fours and crawl for it.
I pulled out two of the heavy dining room chairs to give myself ample space and light to retrieve the shoe and while down under the table, I came face to face with my own personal demon. My Procrastination Monster. I have to mud-wrestle this evil fiend from time to time. When things are going well and I feel relatively self-confident, I manage to keep it at bay and be a contributing member of society. Other times, when less impressed with myself, I am the cram for exams kid in a cage match to the death with the PM and often losing in the bloody ninth round.
However, this morning's issue wasn't so much an orphan of flagging self-worth as it was a trophy of my plain old laziness. When we moved into our current house in July of 2003, I decided that it was time to get a new dining room table. After an exhaustive search for the perfect one, we had it delivered in time to sit amidst the freshly painted walls and new flooring.
The pieces were unwrapped and assembled by the furniture company. Legs were screwed into the table top, chairs removed from their plastic mummification and the leaf inserted to ensure the table's successful placement within the room's dimensions. On the surface, everything seemed perfect. . .but the underside of the tables and chairs hid an ugly secret that the furniture movers did not address.
Under each chair and each segment of the table top, there were these bizarre grey ropes of strapping that were stapled to the wood. Some of them were affixed flush to the surface, while others hung loose like old testicles. I got under the table like a mechanic under a Chevy and I started to yank at them to remove them. With much gnashing of teeth and grunting I managed to get all of the ones that were attached to the bottom of the chairs, but the ones attached to the table were not budging. I tried to swing on them like Tarzan, applying all my weight and repressed anger in one brutal tug, but it wasn't coming out. It hung there like Methuselah's manhood, drifting ever closer to his knees.
Ever since that fateful late summer day in aught three, I have disregarded the grey strapping and held numerous dinner parties and poker games at the table. Each time, saying a little silent prayer that a long legged guest will not get tangled in the dangling strapping.
Fast forward to this morning, August 22 of aught niner, I face the brutal gray strapping again. Horrified, I call to my daughter to fetch me the scissors and the digital camera. And what did I do? I took a picture of the hanging strapping and said to myself "This will make a great blog post!". Upon which, I ran to the office and started typing furiously.
The strapping? It's still there, attached to the table, swinging in the breeze of my speedy departure. Only now, it has friends to keep it company. My lone shoe and a pair of scissors have joined it and my Procrastination Monster is doubled over with laughter. That's alright, I'll get right on it. The three things will either disappear or double to six somewhere around September of 2015.