I Sure Picked the Right Year to Get Trapped in this Luscious 18th Century Armoire

Oh my god, how are you doing? Yeah, I know, that’s everyone’s response. Except for me. I’ve been fantastic ever since I was trapped inside an 18th century armoire for 10 months.

 

Yes, that armoire! The one I inherited from my grandpapa then moved into my apartment even though it carries a dark, unexplainable energy and took up 25% of my bedroom!

 

One day in March, I was reaching in there searching for a sweater when BAM – the doors close behind me. After realizing that the doors were locked and this wasn’t a Narnia scenario, I knew that this dark box was now my new home.

 

I would have called someone, but I left my phone on the bedside table! Isn’t it crazy how little boo-boos like that can determine whether or not you spend three quarters of a year incarcerated in a piece of furniture?

 

How did I survive? I should be asking that question to you! All I had to do was sustain myself off of loose sticks of gum foraged from coat pockets, you’re the one who went through a pandemic!

 

Honestly, I feel blessed. Out of all the years I could have been trapped in an ornate wardrobe, this was pretty damn convenient. I didn’t miss one party or concert or wedding. And when that next event finally comes, guess who’s gonna have a wacky story to tell?

 

The situation wasn’t ideal, but then again I didn’t have to pretend that a Zoom happy hour was a fulfilling experience. I’ll stick with projecting personalities onto the handful of winter coats I own, thank you very much.

 

And what an armoire to get trapped in! While everyone was pacing around their cramped apartments, could I really complain about being encased in kiln-dried oak with a water-based acorn finish? If I got stuck in an Ikea dresser, sure, I would be traumatized, but let’s just say that the hand-painted gold accents weren’t exactly making my stay harder.

 

I know what your next question is going to be, so let me answer it for you: no I didn’t vote in the election. Does that make me a bad person? I would have loved more than anything to fulfill my civic duty, but as a victim of voter suppression, you really should be blaming that wardrobe.

 

So what happens to a person when they’re inside of an armoire for that long? In short, jaundice, but also, I feel like a better person at the end of all this. Quarantine wasn’t exactly great for anyone’s mental health, but something about having my sense of self demolished by months of sensory deprivation really let me start from scratch, you know? You learn to appreciate the little things like when a moth flies into your mouth and your brain learns to qualify that as dessert.

 

But two days ago, the doors flew open and after the sunlight finished searing my eyes, there was my landlord. Great guy, he caught me up on everything that happened while he was evicting me and let me say, boy, was I shocked. And thirsty and also probably in need of medical attention because, at that point, my body was like 60% splinter.

 

Anyways, it was great to see you! Oh, and even though you didn’t bring it up, it’s like, totally cool that you didn’t check where I was for 10 months.