I usually read in the corner of the livingroom.
In a rocking recliner that has seen better days. Our first piece of new furniture after we married, it quickly became discolored and stained.
We had a baby. (Which did nothing for the staining and discoloring.) and after awhile, the seat started to rip. (Personally, I always thought it had something to do with the friction of my nightgowned bum shoving back into it at three in the morning.)
But it was still the most comfortable spot in the livingroom, so I found a nice cover for the torn part and we carried on.
We had another baby. She loved the swaying ka-thunk rhythm of the chair and snoozed a long part of her babyhood - day and night - (R was a horrible, horrible sleeper) away, often falling asleep to (yet another) Law And Order re-run.
The kids piled into the chair whenever we took pictures. They put a sheet over it and played fort, and tent, and marooned on a desert island. The old chair was a boat, a rocket, a bus ( sweet voices singing "The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round") a train, a sled and a stage.
Now-a-days, they use it for target practice, parachute practice, home base for hide and seek, and a time-out chair.
But no one really sits in it anymore. I read in it during the day sometimes, but as a chair, an actual well-loved and used chair? It's not used for that much anymore.
Well, not by a person, at least.
As soon as we head upstairs to go to bed, there's a thwack as the recliner rocks backwards and Jasper drags his weary bones up into the chair.
(He's not really allowed, but he pretty much operates on the 'They're not here, and what they don't know won't hurt them' policy.)
I do the requisite scolding and 'git-ting' if
we catch him slinking apologetically off the recliner in the morning, but it does my heart good
to see that someone still loves the old chair.