Up until last week I had a leather chair that was my go to chair for relaxing. Fifteen years I had that chair. Originally purchased at Pottery Barn before their products went to crap in the late 1990s, it was far and away the most comfortable and restful sitting place I have experienced. Through the entire X Files series, Firefly, Denver Bronco games (two Superbowls), Sharks hockey, Dog Whisperer, sci-fi channel, and on and on. It even make cracking sound as the leather cushion expanded back to its original shape after you got out of it. It sounded like the chair was breathing a sigh of relief. As I look at the chair for the last time I see where my activator has stained a Rorschach imprint resembling my head or as my one of my friends said, “Dude, looks like ghost in a bell jar.” Okay, puff, puff, pass. On the leather surface there is almost no place safe from the miles of wear and tear on the chair, food stains to numerous to classify, wine stains from an array of varietals, ink and ...
From my Dad, who can fracture an "ism" with the best of them: "You can lead a horse to water but that is water under the bridge."