We had a recliner that died. No, the spring didn't break - the framework literally snapped in two. I'm talking a serious, gagging, agonizing death. Dead with no hope of recuscitation. Since we don't have a vehicle suitable for hauling large hunks of dead furniture, it has been sitting in the living room for weeks now in its sorry state. The back leaned severely to one side, making it look rather pitiful indeed. Last night Jeff decided to rearrange furniture - and this meant disposing of the chair.
Jeff is a little creative when it comes to furniture disposal. We once tried to burn a particle-board desk. The thing was so incredibly fireproof that all we managed to do was make a small black mark on the top, despite having doused the thing in gallons of gasoline. I think he eventually ended up taking a sledgehammer to it and hauling away the evidence of his failed attempt.
So as I was in the kitchen, making biscuits for dinner and yakking on the phone with Mom, I heard a loud metallic thwack. I closed my eyes and prayed for patience, then turned the corner to see what the cause of the interruption was. Jeff was attempting to break apart the chair with a claw hammer and small crowbar. After several minutes of unsuccessfully bludgeoning the chair, he came begging for the kitchen shears, with which he proceeded to cut off as much of the upholstery as he could.
Finally he gave up and decided it would be easiest to burn the remains. Now remember - Tennessee has been in the midst of a severe drought. You may have heard of that Tennessee town that ran out of water? That's not 15 miles from my house. It struck me that burning may not be the best disposal method, but I grabbed up Braeden and followed for the show in spite of my misgivings.
Jeff put the chair in the middle of the back yard and lit it in two or three places. For a moment the fire burned contentedly, as if begging for a marshmallow roast - and then Hell suddenly appeared in the backyard. Apparently this chair was not made of the same flame-resistant stuff as the old desk was. When the upholstery lit - it dang near exploded. Within seconds the flames were raging 10 feet in the air, and Jeff was running for the water hose.
I never would have fathomed that burning upholstery could smell so utterly loathsome. I felt certain the chair was getting its last revenge - my eyes are still watering from the stinky, putrid smoke. Blech. It was truly foul. Thankfully, I'd closed the kitchen windows, so the house didn't benefit from the smoking remains.
Once Jeff had thoroughly doused the chair, we left it to smolder in the yard. The torrential downpour that came last night doused any hope of it reingniting.
Now for the fun part - how long will Jeff let it sit in the back yard before he finally hauls it away?