I don't know who this is, but she sure looks happy. Almost TOO happy. And why not? She's sitting in a bean bag chair! Who wouldn't be happy?
My family had a bean bag chair. My mom made it. It was black courderoy. It was ultra-comfy. My brother, sister, and I would fight over who got to sit in it. It was also super-close to the TV, perfect for young, growing eyes.
One of these bad boys combined with a hand-knit Afghan (the blanket, not the people) was the epitome of comfort. Of course, that comfort was ruined when my brother and I were rough-housing and one of us tackled the other on top of it, exploding it and releasing millions of little styrofoam beads into the atmosphere.
Life at our house was never quite the same. We never got another bean bag chair. I can't be sure, but this is probably why my parents eventually got divorced several years later. You see, they always tell kids of divorced parents that it isn't their fault, but let's face it, most of the time it is.