Reality problem

That could be so much bigger, he
said wistfully, staring. The chair
was small, admittedly, really only
acceptable for a child. He’d wanted
it for his mother for her birthday
but he’d ordered it late, so he’d
already missed it, and now he had to
send it back again. I just don’t
know what to do. He frowned walking
around the chair that came only
to his knee. It occured to him
that the problem of the chair was
quite big enough for his mother,
far too big for himself, which
was funny, seeing as his mother,
hunched and wizened, was much shorter
than he was. He chuckled in spite
of himself, at the problem of reality.