By Nook or by Crook
I have a love hate relationship with my bean bag…
I love it when I sink into it and I hate it when I have to get up
It’s like it doesn’t want to let go… I twist and turn into ungainly poses, yet sink deeper… … This makes me keep everything I might ever need, within reaching distance before planning a ‘beanbag trip’!
It’s like leaving for the Moon or maybe an exotic holiday destination in Africa… Whatever you leave behind, would be what you need the most…
There must be a law named after this situation, but I am not aware of it
But without doubt… The beanbag is to me, what comfort food is for most…. It’s my ‘time-out’ zone. I’ve carried it’s ungainly size up a precarious staircase so we could be together on the terrace… I’ve also dragged it across rooms, sometimes with a pug nestled warmly inside
I am convinced that family members can go into beanbag wars on such days when all members are home and presuming all have functioning knee joints… That’s a perquisite for beanbag surfing