Throne

I got real lucky at the thrift store last week. 

My queen.

This elegant chair was literally sitting on the edge of the sidewalk in front of the Everett Value Village, begging me to take notice.

She was so obviously worthy of her $20 price tag that I assumed someone had already bought her, and was circling the car around to pick her up.

If you were mine, I would never make you wait alone, darling. I would stay right by your side.

Imagine my delight when, after a protracted inquiry about this princess's status with the staff, I learned that she was in fact unattached. So I scooped her up in a heartbeat.

At the spa.

Once I got her settled at home, I was ready to make an honest assessment at her faults.

Poor thing. You've been suffering some neglect.

Handmade slip-covered cushions in deep burgundy, navy and forest green plaid.

A broken support piece in the seat.

And a wicked case of thrift store stench. 

So I set to work giving this beauty the full spa treatment.

• Off came the makeshift covers, and into the washing machine went the surprisingly workable but cat-hair covered cushions inside. 

• With a hose clamp and some Gorilla glue, the broken joint was repaired.

• And after a prolonged scrub-down with Simple Green and an afternoon in the sun, I polished the pretty lady up with three coats of clear matte waterproof finish. 

Today, I made the final preparations for her glamorous entry into the garden by carefully placing four pavers under her tiny feet, so she need never touch any actual dirt. 

Dirt is for peasants like me. You, my queen, deserve only the best. 

With the stage immaculately set, the grand dame made her entrance, and I thrilled to see her take quiet command of her shady corner.

My two queens. 

And apparently, Gracie shared my sentiments because she promptly hopped up onto the gleaming white cushions of my beautiful new chair with four sublimely muddy paws and assumed her own regal position.

My red shaggy lady is on her new throne, and all is well with the world.