LAY FAUX TOY
Memory from 1992
"Corey, there are two…eu…eu…chairs, old ones, nice ones, I think they are nice. Someone in the office building threw them away, the chairs are outside by the garbage, should I bring them home?" My French Husband said out of breath, was there a sound of excitement in his voice?
"What are they? Office chairs, we don't really need office chairs?"
Doubting my husband's judgment, I asked him to describe "the chairs" to me.
With a sound of urgency in his voice that stumped me, why is he this happy about old chairs?
He said, "They are very nice, big chairs, not office chairs. With green and yellow stripes, you know, les fauteuils!" Free or not, I had never before heard my husband excited about home furnishings, let alone junk on the side of the road.
"Armchairs? Lay-Faux-toy? Does that mean armchairs?" Quizzing him like mental Pictionary.
"Harm-share! Oui, oui, c'est ca! I "tink" fauteuils, is what you say, "Harm-share!" I could feel his big smile over the phone. "Should I bring them home?"
How could I say no to that unusual expression of surprise, delight, excitement?
I held the door open as he mounted the seven floors to our apartment. At the top of the stairwell stood Monsieur Harm-share holding a pair of miracles, "I thought you would like them?"
Oh did I ever, but I certainly liked that French Husband "knew" and that his "knowing" made him bubble over.
We still have the Harm Chairs Lay Faux Toys which have been reupholstered a few times since then.
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