My mother has a knack for arranging furniture. Maybe you don’t think this is anything particularly special, but you’re wrong. My mother can look at a room and everything in it, and then move all of it to a different position and have it not only fit precisely, but look equally as good as it did before. And she likes to exercise this talent on a regular basis. At least once a month, I’ll come home from school and find the vacuum cleaner running and abandoned in the hallway, while my mother drags massive bookshelves around in the den. Now you’re probably thinking, “wow, your mom moves all that furniture by herself? She must have the upper body strength of the incredible Hulk”. If you’re not thinking that, you should be because it’ll really help move this story along. In any case, the answer is, yes she’s moves it all by herself. She’s built up quite the triceps from moving furniture all her life. Also from dragging around kindergarten kids. She’s a talented woman, my mother.
Personally, my mother’s furniture arranging doesn’t bother me. I’m never involved and if the televisions still work, I don’t really care where they are. My father, on the other hand, apparently hates change. He sighs every time my mother rearranges anything and then complains about how something is blocking his route to an exit. I don’t know why he’s so concerned about whether or not the armchair is blocking his way to a fire route because we have never had a fire in my house (except for that one time Julia set the oven on fire baking a peach pie). But he is evidently very concerned about fire safety. This is how he got his nickname, Fire Chief Dad. His other nickname, Lord Charlesington, has nothing to do with any of this. It’s just funny.