🛋️ Electric Recliners—Godsend or the Devil’s Last Laugh?

I don’t know what possessed us to go recliner shopping. I thought it would be easy—sit in a few chairs, pick one that doesn’t make weird noises, and call it a day.

But no.

We somehow ended up starring in Goldilocks and the Three Chairs: Senior Edition.

👀 The Great Recliner Debate

You’d think we were furnishing a palace with the way we analyzed every single chair.

“Is it the right color?”
“Will it fit in the living room?”
“Does it look big enough for our… uh… assets?”

And once we got past that, it was time for the test drives. We pushed buttons, reclined, un-reclined, and bickered like we were shopping for a car. I was smitten with the electric models. The idea of pressing a button and gliding into relaxation? Yes, please.

Rick, on the other hand, squinted at the control panel like I was trying to install a rocket launcher in the living room.

“Too many gadgets,” he said. “What happens when it breaks?”
I told him if it broke, we’d fix it. Not exactly launching a space shuttle here.

But I stood firm. And in the end? I won. 🙌

🛻 Getting It Home (AKA The Real Workout)

We picked The Chair, paid for it, and watched the store employees load it into the truck like they were playing a round of furniture Tetris. It was wrapped in plastic and wedged in like a burrito—safe and secure.

Rick glanced at it and muttered, “We’re gonna need a crane to get it out.”

I laughed. How hard could it be?

Spoiler alert: very.

Rick tried his usual “I’ve got it” routine. He gave the chair a good yank, made a sound I’d never heard come out of him before, and dropped it right back down.

“Call Cory,” he grunted, already rubbing his back.
That’s Rick’s code for: This thing’s a beast, and I’m not throwing my back out today.

🦸 Enter: Cory

Cory rolled in like a superhero, full of confidence and just the tiniest bit of that grown-kid sarcasm. He looked at the chair, then at me.

“Really, Mom? An electric chair?”

Yes, Cory. And it’s glorious. Keep lifting.

Between me pushing from one side, Rick offering commentary from the doorway (helpful or not), and Cory doing 97% of the actual lifting, we finally wrestled that thing through the door.

It was like solving a puzzle we weren’t smart enough for. There were moments I honestly thought, Forget it—let’s just leave it on the porch and call it patio furniture.

But after a lot of twisting, one doorframe bump, and Rick yelling “Watch the wall!” six dozen times, we got it in.

👑 Let the Reigning Begin

Once it was in place, I sat down, hit that magical button, and voilà—feet up! I floated into comfort like I was queen of the castle.

Rick stood there, arms crossed, muttering something about “gadgetry.” I just smiled.

Then the grandkids came over.

“LOOK! Grandma’s chair moves!”
They treated it like a Disneyland ride. One would start the recline, and the other would launch themselves onto the footrest like they were riding a mechanical bull. The chair was groaning under the strain. So was I.

“This is NOT a ride!” I bellowed more than once.

It took weeks to train them out of it. And even now, there’s still a fight over who gets to sit in the “throne of power” when they visit.

⚡ The Quirks

Now, don’t get me wrong—I love this chair. But it’s not without its quirks.

First off, the footrest moves like it’s got all the time in the world. Someone knocks on the door, and by the third “Come in!” I’m still stuck halfway reclined, waving like I’m stranded on a sinking ship. I’ve tried leaping off mid-lower, but it ends with me tangled like a fish in a net.

And the real kicker? Power outages.

One minute, you’re living the dream—feet up, show on, snacks in hand. The next? Darkness. Silence. And you’re stuck in what I call “The Recliner of Doom.” Getting out is a whole routine. Shimmy forward, wedge your feet, say a prayer, and hope your knees remember their job.

If not, you tip the chair forward, flail like a gymnast on laundry day, and hope nobody's watching.

🚨 Rick’s Moment of Recliner Despair

This one still makes me laugh.

I’d been messing with the ceiling fan—you know, trying to figure out which chain turns on the light and which one makes the fan stop sounding like it’s going to fly off the ceiling. I gave up and just flipped the wall switch.

From the living room, I heard it.

“Help!”

I walked in to find Rick stranded. The footrest was up, chair frozen, and Rick was stuck like a mannequin—legs out, hands gripping the arms like he’d been betrayed by the furniture.

“What happened?” I asked, trying not to snort.

“The chair! It’s dead!” he barked. “I can’t get my feet down!”

Turns out the recliner was plugged into the same outlet as the ceiling fan. When I flipped the switch, I cut off the power to The Chair.

Rick was not amused.

“HANG TIGHT,” I said between giggles.

“HANG TIGHT?! I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!”

I flipped the switch back on and the chair came to life, slowly lowering him back to earth while he glared at me like I’d done it on purpose.

Okay… maybe I did laugh a little too hard. And maybe I do flip that switch occasionally now, just for fun. 😏

🤷 Final Thoughts

If you’re thinking about getting an electric recliner, here’s my advice:

Prepare for a love-hate relationship. It’s part luxury, part obstacle course, and part relationship stress test. You’ll fight the chair, fight the outlet, fight your grandkids—but when it works? Oh, honey. It’s pure magic.

🪑 Wanda-ism: The good news? I’ve got a chair that hugs me. The bad news? It might never let me go. 😉

Pull up a chair. I’ve got a story.