I meant shoehorn

So deal with it… I guess my definition of furniture is broader than yours (I’d define it as anything in a house).  Hence my shoe horn declaration.  But I’ll admit I’m intrigued by your china hutch idea (I didn’t know anyone saw the fragile china inside.)

It’s funny how after two weeks your opinions can change.  Since I wrote that post I came across an alarming picture of you, my twin, in a white fedora and sunglasses getting “jiggy” with it…

And now I think Emma might be on to something.

I’m  just joking, twin…dance if you want to!  “There was a man Bo-Justin and he’d dance for you/The old soft shoe.”

Back to moving stuff,

Jon

Dance, Dance Revolution

First a quibble. You know how I hate to quibble, but in this case, quibble I must.

In your last post, you said that if you were a piece of furniture you would be a shoehorn? A shoehorn??

A shoehorn is not a piece of furniture. If anything it’s a dressing tool or fashion aid, that would be like me saying, “If I were a piece of furniture I would be a lint brush or a corset fastener.” Perhaps you meant the close cousin of the shoehorn, the bootjack, but that too, while more substantial in size, still doesn’t quite fit the bill as furniture. 

Quite honestly, I always had you pegged as the human equivalent of a china hutch. By all outward appearances sturdy and indestructible, but inside full of fragile, ornately patterned dishes. (I know, I know, I just completely blew your mind with the accuracy of my description of “china hutch as Jon.” What can I say? I’ve just always had a knack of pairing people with their furniture equivalent.)

In case you were wondering, I would be a deceptively comfortable looking chair that once sat in you never quite get settled into. (Well, either that or a bookcase.)

Now the question of the day: Why won’t Emma let Charles dance?

I know you mentioned this in your post a few weeks ago, and now that I’ve finally made it to this portion of the novel I have to agree. In my 21st Century reading of the book when Charles and Emma have the following exchange:

“–These ankle straps are going to be awkward for dancing, he said
–Dancing? said Emma
–Yes
–You must be out of your mind! They’d laugh at you. You stay sitting down.”

I couldn’t help but imagine Charles getting ready, tying up his ankle straps, while stiffly bending his arms at the elbow working on his Robot for the big shindig. (I also had a bizarre flashback to a conversation that I remember having before every school dance I ever attended.)

In the end though, I agree with you, Twin Brother, let Charle cha-cha. Is it me or can Emma B. be a bit of a wet blanket sometimes? 

Anyway, I am now nearing the end of Book I. Perhaps I will go sit on my shoehorn and finish-up.

Justin