We went to IKEA yesterday and I picked up a chair for work and a desk for writing. (I'm still in the process of choosing a desk for work. The poor dining table is buckling under the strain of so much computer equipment.) I bought the same chair that I picked up last year except in green. (The red chair gets usurped when rock band is being played. The drummer has to sit on something! And since it has no arms and it adjusts, it's the perfect chair for that.) So the green chair is now at the new writing desk that I bought. It's a compact one because the downstairs doesn't have all that much room and I don't need that much desk space for writing anyway. (The work desk will have to be bigger because this desk can't hold a laptop and an additional monitol, which is my setup for work.)
I keep it tucked away in against the wall when I'm not using it. And when I'm just surfing the net or writing journal entries, I face it towards the television. Chris doesn't like this desk, however. He finds it too small, only big enough for a 4 year old child. He wasn't so keen on me buying it when we were in IKEA, but I bought it anyway. And I quite like it. It's the perfect size for me. And the little area where the computer tower is supposed to be is a good foot stool since my legs are rather short.
But Chris, he makes fun of my little desk. Since I move it around, he says that I'm capable of marauding all over the living room. No area is safe from my little battle station.
And when his dad called yesterday, he proceeded to comment on the smallness of my desk. And you know what his dad said?
"She's not a giant monster like you."