I told him, just bring home a wing-back chair and a staple-gun.
He found one in the next neighborhood over, one of a pair on the roadside, for free! He picked out the one in better condition, but didn't do the whiff test. Stale cigarettes! Ahh!
We aired it on the porch, decided we'd have to re-stuff it as well (stale cigarettes are pretty powerful), and left it in a somewhat deconstructed state in the living room.
8 months later...
We finally completed this beast. I tell you, reupholstering this chair has given me a newfound respect for people who do this professionally. And for the right tools.
I shall continue, but yeh'll be wanting pictures, then, won't yeh?
Here she is before:
Hideous floral granny fabric.
Here's what the armrests looked like, worn through to the batting. The whole thing slightly discolored to boot.
The back. I think we initially took pictures back in October not only for posterity, but also so we could try to remember how to put it back together!
Prying it apart. There must have been thousands of staples in there, not to mention tack strips (bastardy cardboard strips with devil-sharp nails poking through), and curve metal things with teeth I took to calling the Jaws of Death. We scraped ourselves, we scraped. We bled, yes we bled. And it finally came apart.
That was October. Later we bought the fabric at Ikea, forgot about that for a while, then cut it all out. The chair itself sat in a forgotten corner of the living room (forgotten, maybe, but also the first thing you see when you enter our apartment), until this past weekend.
Enter Memorial Day Monday.
DH: "Would you like to go on a hike today?"
Me: "Or, we could tackle The Chair."
<<upon waking up late on Monday morning>>
Me: "Well, it's too late for a hike, isn't it?"
And thus, the chair was completed. I had to make a run down to Jo-Ann for batting and tack strips (Jaws of Death did not figure prominently in our reconstruction), and so we began.
Some in-progress shots. We were able to release anger as well as nesting instincts thanks to the staple gun and batting.
Doggy helped. Actually, it looks like he killed the sheep we used to stuff it and is gnawing on the marrow bone.
Hundreds of staples later, not to mention some improvised tack strips, a bit of scary toxic glue, and some elbow grease, it was finished. Enjoy the fruits of our labors:
Next time, no former smoker's chairs.
Actually, no next time.