Rearranging deck chairs like he’s on the Titanic

I know I should write some penetrating commentary right now about the U.S. Supreme Court or guns or abortions or the Jan. 6 committee.

But I can’t even. America is so exhausting that what I would like to do is take a cool sparking beverage out on our deck and enjoy the afternoon breeze.

But I have PFIS. That’s Patio Furniture Impairment Syndrome. I have it and the Significant Other has it, although she adamantly denies that this is the case.

Let’s talk about today. Just an hour ago, our mail carrier Sherry pulled into our driveway. Sherry is a great federal employee. Everybody loves her, and I am confident that, if I were ever lying on our inadequately furnished deck while chipmunks ate my body (see below) Sherry would notice that she had not seen me for a while and take appropriate action (although possibly not in time).

I noticed that Sherry was wrestling something unwieldy out of her truck, so I went down to take it from her. It was a base for an outdoor umbrella. Assembly required.

“You might want to take it straight over to your deck,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “We already have two umbrella stands sitting up there doing nothing. This will be three.”

“Why do you have so many?” she asked.

“I don’t really know,” I told her ruefully. I explained about PFIS and the unavailability of treatment for it.

She said she had to get going. Mail carriers always theoretically have to get going, but I don’t think Sherry ever looked so relieved to be saying it.

We have an inviting deck. I know this because, over the years, we have looked out onto the deck and seen the following: two young bears, a bobcat, a litter of foxes, a murder of crows, an entire civilization of raccoons, one worriedlooking opossum, various and sundry squirrels and an unspecified number of chipmunks.

The bears appeared one Halloween night. I actually thought they were kids in really terrific bear costumes, and when I realized they were not, I called the police.

“We’ll leave a message for Animal Control,” the dispatcher said.

“It’s Halloween! There are children running around making highpitched noises and holding sacks of food,” I kind of screamed. “This isn’t leavea-message. This is Hometown Buffet.”

One or more of these animals has started to chew holes in the deck. I’m pretty sure it’s the chipmunks. I’m pretty sure chipmunks are way more evil and destructive than most of us realize. I’m pretty sure they enjoy watching us blame things on moles and squirrels and alleged serial killers when it’s actually them. Remember “The Edge,” the 1997 movie where Anthony Hopkins and Alec Baldwin are running across Alaska from a man-eating bear? That was originally supposed to be about chipmunks, but they couldn’t get financing.

But it’s still, as long as you watch your step, a very nice deck, and I would love to have you over for a pitcher of lemonade, but there would be some fairly pressing questions

Have you noticed that four chairs for $50 each + one table for $750 + one umbrella and stand for $170 somehow costs $8,999 if you buy them as a set?

about where you would sit and where you would put your glass and that sort of thing.

It’s not that we have no furniture. It’s that ... it’s that ... I actually don’t understand what the problem is. Seven weeks ago we began the Great Deck Initiative, the goal of which was to be able to congregate with other people, even people harboring infectious diseases, in an outdoor setting proximate to our living space.

And seven weeks later, it’s difficult to describe the place we’ve arrived at. It’s as if the Mercury space program wound up with a bunch of rocket pieces that didn’t fit together at all, and somebody had to tell Alan Shephard to go stand on the observation deck of Empire State Building in lieu of a suborbital trajectory.

Part of the problem is that the Significant Other likes to give things away more than she likes to keep them. For example, we did have a matching set of chairs and a table, which she gave to Hector, the nice man we hired to power wash the deck. In fairness, somebody — the opossum I think — had taken to sleeping in one of the chairs at night, leaving the cushion coated with stinky white fur.

The S.O. also announced that she was sending our two lounge chairs to her mother’s cottage. She bought two new lounge chairs to replace them and then announced she wanted to give those to her daughter.

“We can’t go on like this,” I told her. “We’re experiencing a net loss. It’s like we have to buy eight of something in order to wind up with three.”

But it’s not only that. It’s something more profound and finely grained.

I partly blame the Outdoor Furniture Industrial Complex, one of the few business entities which actually charges less for a la carte than for prix fixe. Have you noticed this? Have you noticed that four chairs for $50 each + one table for $750 + one umbrella and stand for $170 somehow costs $8,999 if you buy them as a set? You haven’t noticed that? Have you not been staring for hours on end at the websites for Wayfair and Overstock and Lowe’s the way I have?

I’m so tired. I just want the Patio Fairies to fix everything while I sleep.

And then I want them to fly to Washington and turn Justices Alito, Gorsuch and Thomas into end tables. Nice ones. And not too expensive.