Matching chairs

The Postscript
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My husband, Peter, and I have matching folding chairs.

Every Thursday evening this summer, we have attended the outdoor concert held in a local park. The music is usually good, but the food trucks are undeniably the center of the experience. Our favorite is the Tot Boss that sells tasty, hot tater tots out the window of the truck.

Peter and I bring our own chairs. We get comfortable in our folding chairs, eat our tater tots, listen to the music, and watch the people and dogs go by. It’s hard to beat a night of outdoor music, tater tots and people-watching.

The variety of folding chairs is remarkable.

There are low beach-type chairs that only lift the behind of the concertgoer a couple of inches off the ground, and there are exceptionally high chairs that look as if they are intended for use while casting a fishing line. There are the old-school webbed folding chairs, and there are tiny camping chairs, some of which snap together like umbrellas, and others that require at least an undergraduate degree in engineering to assemble. But, almost always, the chairs come in sets of two.

Each couple has somehow decided what sort of couple they are — whether they are the “fancy floral print chairs” type, or the “20-year-old lawn chairs stashed in the garage” type. They all have somehow agreed that, yes, this is the kind of couple we are, and they show up every Thursday night, toting their matching chairs.

Of course, there are exceptions.

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EDITOR’S NOTE: Carrie Classon’s memoir is called “Blue Yarn.” Learn more at CarrieClasson.com.

Holyoke Enterprise

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