My parents overheard me telling a friend how I came to have a colorful child-size chair:
My father bought it for me while he was in the Navy where he got shot. He ducked; the bullet missed killing him but he was wounded in his stomach and lived.
I wasn’t punished because it was so outrageous.
8 thoughts on “77/365 The story of the Mexican chair”
A colourful chair deserve a colourful creation story.
I love that.
I trust this was during your childhood?
Haha, yes it was.
Ignore the preceding enigmatic comment: I can’t comment on someone else’s blog so was testing things here.