Many years ago I came home to an unpleasant surprise thought by the one who bought it to be a great wonderfulness -- a large black recliner that when sat in made me feel as if I were an insect caught on his back with nothing to do but die, legs waving frantically and uselessly in the air. I hated it. To recline in this leathery black coffin was an acceptance of uselessness and death. I said I did not like it and went for a long walk in the forest with my dogs. Even now at age 78 I have no such sarcophagus.
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