I am in love.
I suppose it's a deviant kind of love.
It is an inanimate object after all. It's big, it's black, it's rectangular ... to touch it is to caress it, to stroke it is to fan fantasy ... yes, it's frankly, sexy. Who knew that such passions would be provoked the moment I opened the package.
When I first got my power wheelchair, I was assisted by an OT who brought along a wheelchair company guy. She was great, he ... well, he could use some work. From the moment I got the chair I reported that the cushion just didn't cut it. After only a short time sitting in the chair I was in pain. I learned to buck up and just deal with it. I felt horrible complaining, the government did help me buy the chair after all. Even so, I reported the problem, they sent me another cushion, exactly like the first one. I got the impression - here's cushion, now shut up.
So, I went on line and started searching for cushions that can take, um, a big bum, you know a cushion that can work under pressure. I ordered myself one. It arrived in this huge box, 4 or 5 times the size of the cushion. Maybe I'm the only one who thought it odd that a cushion came so well, um, cushioned. I mean, it's not like it's breakable, it's a cushion.
Well, that's what I thought at first.
And then ...
I sat on it.
Now I understand the packaging, I've offered it a special place in my heart. I've given a promise that I will never, ever, fart while on the chair.
At least for the first few dates.