In Lust With This Chair... But Not For $220

I want this chair. I've driven or walked by the Melrose Avenue junk antique shop it's sitting in almost every day for the past few weeks.

It's lovely. It's the kind of chair I wish I could find at a modern, reasonably priced furniture store. (If you know of a store like this, hit a sista up because I'm still trying to determine what the name of that modern store would be.)

I've dreamed of this chair taking up a permanent residence in my living room. I've heard myself banning every other member of my household from sitting in it or breathing on it... and on Saturday afternoon I finally stopped in the shop to check it out.

As I looked it over, I noticed that the front of the seat cushion has some small tears in it. I figured, $100 would be a generous offer. $75 would be better.

I asked the shop owner how much he wanted for it and this clown says, "$220. Final offer."

I must've given him my Are You Hittin' The Pipe In The Backroom? look because he immediately added, "It's vintage. From the 1940's."

People in Los Angeles like to throw around the word "vintage" a whole lot. The more "vintage" they can stuff into a description, the more ridiculously high the price becomes.

In my world, vintage is before 1900. My parents were born in the 1940's and they certainly aren't "vintage".

Sadly, the shop owner refused to bargain with me, so I left. Without the chair.

My kids were shocked. "But you REALLY want that chair," my nine year-old son said.

Yes, I do. But I don't want it for $220.

Maybe I'll go back in another two weeks and offer the shop owner $100 for his chair. Then again, maybe not. The shop owner was kinda jerk-y and where I spend my money is like voting.

Of course, someone else might buy the chair. I wish I could say I'm pretty confident it'll still be there, but there are a lot of fools in Hollywood who'll fall for that vintage crap and pay the money. And if they do, I guess this chair isn't meant for me after all.