Dear Diary, I'm the Clothes Chair.

Dear Diary,

Today, someone looked at me, sighed, and said, "I really need to clean this up.”

I wasn't always like this.

Once upon a time, I was... well... a chair. People sat on me. Kids spun around on me. Someone even read a book on me once. I had purpose, and I had dignity.

And I had…lumbar support.

Then one day... a T-shirt happened. I remember it crystal clear; it was faded around the neck and had two tiny holes. Looked like it had retired three years ago but somehow still made the weekly rotation. It wasn't even meant to stay. "I'm just keeping this here for a minute." That's what they said. Diary, that was three summers ago. 

Since then, I've been promoted or demoted. I'm honestly not sure. I'm now responsible for storing clothes that exist in a very confusing dimension. Not clean enough to enter the wardrobe. Not dirty enough to enter the laundry basket. Just... emotionally unavailable.

Here's what I'm currently holding.

• One dress that "still smells fine." 
  
• Two pairs of jeans waiting for their second outing. 
• A towel that has definitely forgotten where the bathroom is. 
• One mysterious sock whose soulmate has gone missing. 
  
• A tote bag containing absolutely nothing important. 
• Three outfits that lost the battle against "I have nothing to wear." 

Business is booming. 

Humans are fascinating. Every morning they come to me and they dig through the pile. Pull out a shirt and reject it. Then they put it back in a different place.

Repeat. 

It's like watching someone search Netflix for forty minutes.

Yesterday, something exciting happened. Someone folded everything! I thought..."This is it." "I'm finally going back to being a chair." For twelve glorious minutes, I could see daylight. Then...A pair of pajamas landed on me.

I've met chairs from other homes; we keep in touch. One lives under a mountain of handbags. Another specialises in sarees. One poor guy has become home to every "I'll iron this later" outfit since 2022. We all have different stories but the same destiny.

Sometimes guests come over.

That's when things get interesting. The humans panic lol.

They scoop up everything I'm holding...and place it on the bed. The bed becomes the clothes bed. I get to pretend I'm a normal chair again. It's honestly my favourite performance.

I deserve an award.

But between you and me...

I don't mind this life anymore. Because here's what I've realised.

The pile on me isn't laziness, it's real life. 

It's someone coming home after a long day and tossing their bag on me before they finally get to breathe.

It's trying on three outfits before dinner because, "Maybe this one will make me feel a little more like myself.”

It's deciding that folding laundry can wait because the show is getting really good.

I used to think I was holding clothes.

Turns out...I've been holding tiny moments of people's lives.

Anyway.

Someone just walked in holding a freshly washed T-shirt. I know exactly where this is going.

Wish me luck.

Love,

The Clothes Chair 🪑