Chesterfield Snow Day

On a not so long ago January morning, despite the relentless snowfall and icy road conditions, we were reluctantly on our way to school. I was gripping the steering wheel fairly aggressively and driving with extra care and attention—since in addition to the residential roads having received very little maintenance, the winter tires on our old van are not wholly impressive—when my eldest daughter let out an enormous sneeze. I registered it somewhere in the back of my mind but not enough to react. But when she said “Bless me!” out loud to herself I winced and felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t acknowledged her. So being the insecure mother that I am, in an attempt to overcompensate for not paying closer attention to her, I spouted out: “Bless you!” “Gesundheit!” and “Bless you” in Ukrainian (as my Baba would say it but I could never write on a normal keyboard), and then for comic effect I added “Chesterfield!” in the same exalted breath.

My son in the front seat next to me looked at me and said, “Chesterfield? Isn’t that a coffee table?”

My raucous laughter ensued. “A coffee table?” I replied with exasperation.

Have you failed as a parent if your 13-year-old doesn’t know what a chesterfield is?

For the record, and much thanks to Google, the word chesterfield is a short-form way to describe a deep-buttoned, leather-covered sofa—apparently one in which the back and arms are at the same height—also very fashionable in velvet.

It was a name that was copyrighted by the Fleming Howland furniture company, although they can only speculate on its origin. Some say it was named for the Earl of Chesterfield but no documentation seems to exist. Kate Watson-Smyth, in her article titled “The secret history of…The Chesterfield” writes “To own (or at least desire) a purple velvet Chesterfield is to be marked as officially middle class.”

Make way for the Purple Velvet Chesterfield!