You will be happy to learn that I located the leak on my short-lived inflatable chair, and successfully patched it, though only time will tell if the regal throne will last under the burden of its king. It is too oft tragical that newborn inflatables wheeze and pucker upon their first inflation, leaving their Pee Wee Hermanesque purveyors slouched atop a pile of industrial rubber, a silent tear falling into the squeaky folds of imagined luxury. Nothing but hot air! And even then, the air escapes.

UPDATE: Alas! The ill-fated rare chair of rubber and air is not meant to be; one leak, effectively sealed, means little upon the sprout of another. With due haste I will suppress such seepings of precious gas as completely as possible, but the immediate onset of novel leaks is ominous, to say the least.