A/N: Written for originalfic_las for the prompt: [character] has a midlife crisis
Summary: A conversation between a rocking chair and a teapot.
“Old. That’s what they called me. Old-fashioned. Can you believe that?” the wooden rocking chair groused. The teapot on the set of shelves next to him sighed in sympathy.
“Oh, that’s how some people see the world, dearie.”
“Don’t you ‘dearie’ me you chip-spouted, crackle-bodied drink dispenser!”
“Well I never!”
“I never!” the chair roared, creaking mightily in annoyance. “Do you know what I sold for when I was new?”
“I couldn’t hazard a guess,” the teapot said warily.
“Six hundred dollars,” he said. “And look what they’ve priced me at here. Sixty! A tenth, a tenth of my value.”
“Oh you terrible thing, it’s not so bad,” the teapot counseled. “I sold for sixty dollars new, and myself and the whole set of my sisters for a hundred and fifty, but now? I’m on the quarter shelf.”
“Hmph,” the rocking chair said. “Well, there’s that.”
“That there is.”
The teapot thought she might have a moment of silence, but the rocking chair wouldn’t stay still.
“I’m solid walnut. Peg construction, hand-carved and waxed. I was on display in the center of the showroom in the furniture store for months. That was as Luxe Furnishings,” he added in a confidential tone. “Hundreds of people saw me, wanted me. And finally, one couple took me home. She was pregnant, you see, and wanted to have a good chair for her upcoming family. I helped her rock all five of her children to sleep, year after year. Twenty years. Twenty years I was with the Andersons.
“And then –bam! I’m suddenly too old-fashioned. Not as useful as I once was. Took up too much room. So they take me here and leave me. At a thrift shop!”
“Calm yourself dearie, you’re splintering,” the teapot said, wincing at the chair’s vehemence.
“Calm? How am I supposed to be calm? I’ve been relegated to being used by people who have no idea of my pedigree, or- or- to being used a chew toy for dogs!”
“Now, now, this isn’t the end of the world…”
“I should be in the prime of my life! I should have become a family heirloom, contested over and fought for! Now someone’s going to buy me and paint me pink or something ridiculous…” He sighed in resignation, the fight seeming to go out of him. “Maybe I should just let them.”
“Hush!” the teapot scolded. “You’re young yet, and strong. Solid walnut, peg construction, if I recall correctly.”
“You did,” the rocking chair said with pride.
“There’s a life beyond the first home, and yes, even a life beyond your first thrift store, if you can be graceful about it.”
The chair waited in stiff silence, which the teapot took as a sign to go on.
“You go from new to familiar, from familiar to old, old to used, used to classic, classic to antique,” she explained.
“Gah! Antique?! Antique, me? I’m not even thirty!” the chair protested.
“Do get over yourself, dearie. Just keep yourself in one piece and you’ll be valued for what you are again someday.”
The rocking chair grumbled to himself as the teapot softly hummed a happy tune, once popular when she was young and whole.