I knew this phrase had joined our hall of fame when I asked Ruth to sit in the middle seat of the mini van and she howled, “Why do I always have to sit in the seat of death?”
When Birk brought home the kindergarten class teddy bear, named Humphrey, we had to take him everywhere we went. Photographs were required to document his weekend. On the way home from school, Birk said, “Mom, could you take a picture of Humphrey in the seat of death?”
John was running to the car and yelled, “Last one in gets the seat of death!”
The seat of death was named because we have an old Jeep Cherokee and the middle seat has no shoulder belt. I asked at the CHPD’s car seat inspection clinic, whether it was safer to have my son in the front seat or the middle back seat with just a lap belt. The officer advised me to put him in the front seat.
From there on, we called it the ‘seat of death.’
Unfortunately, with a family of 5, sometimes somebody must sit in the seat of death. The term has even carried over to the middle of the third row seat in our mini van. Even if you’re a guest, you may have to sit in the seat of death. Sorry, Humphrey, that’s how we roll.
Mombshells 