A Choice of Furnishings
Posted 01-13-2013 at 11:47 AM by KatieGal
I visited a girlfriend yesterday. She is married to an attorney. They live in this really nice, relatively new house. It is decorated very neatly. My friend has selected a lot of light colors. There is a cream-colored sofa. Upon the sofa are a couple of bright red pillows with white tassels along the seams. There is a matching chair nearby. Along one wall is a whitish china closet displaying porcelain white cups and saucers. The carpet is an off-white in color, and it is plush. The walls are in the same hue as the carpet. Many of the rooms are illuminated by a number of light fixtures in the ceiling. During the day there is additional light that pours in through a large picture window. She has clearly put a lot of time, effort, and money into the furnishings, and the entire property. My friend owns a lot of attractive stuff.
As I was given the tour, for a few minutes I was kind of envious. Everything was so pristine and elegant. But after a while I started getting just a bit creeped out. Within about fifteen minutes or so I had this desire to ask my friend if living this almost aristocratic lifestyle is really how she wants to spend her only time on earth, or for that matter, even a short time of it. Of course I would never ask such an insensitive, rhetorical question. I knew my duty was to just gaze upon her various belongings, smile, and try to concoct the occasional benign, flattering question such as: “Where did you ever find such beautiful towels?”
I live in a relatively small condo with two assigned parking spots outside my front door. There is a modest, wood-plank deck outside my back door whereupon sits two lawn chairs and a metal table. Step inside and things do not get any fancier. For the record; I generally keep my home clean and neat. I vacuum every other day and change the bedsheets every three days. But as for my possessions; I have a rather elderly tan sofa that is made of some fabric that would easily survive a nuclear blast. My old, wooden coffee table is barren except for a TV remote and an assortment of coffee cup rings embedded into its surface. The TV is perched on a wobbly wooden stand. I can only hope it will not collapse under the weight of the television. My elderly kitchen table is hand-painted flat black. I’m not sure which decade it was manufactured, or which century, for that matter. My modest kitchen, two bedrooms, and my lone bathroom all basically match a single theme and that is; “no theme”. Most of my furniture was spare or unwanted furniture given to me by friends or relatives about five years ago when I first lived on my own. When I moved in with a previous boyfriend, my stuff went into storage. I intended to eventually donate it or more likely, throw it all away, but I never got around to it. Today that boyfriend is long gone but the furniture remains.
I have a job that pays well. I could afford better furnishings but get this; I [I]love [/I]my condo, I really do. I love how I live in it. It is amazingly comfortable place to reside. I remember when my current boyfriend first saw my abode, he jokingly cracked, “Wow, I like what you’ve done with the place.” He was being funny but I took it as a compliment nevertheless. It was a humorous salute to my distinct lack of materialism.
I remember I brewed my boyfriend some coffee that afternoon and after he took a sip, he wanted to set the cup on the well-worn coffee table in front of him. “Katie, I want to put this down. Do you have a coaster?”
“Steve, look at that table,” I responded with a grin. “A coaster? Are you kidding me?”
I’m happy for my girlfriend. She is obviously very proud of her home. But I have the kind of place where I want to live, and I do mean [I]live[/I].
As I was given the tour, for a few minutes I was kind of envious. Everything was so pristine and elegant. But after a while I started getting just a bit creeped out. Within about fifteen minutes or so I had this desire to ask my friend if living this almost aristocratic lifestyle is really how she wants to spend her only time on earth, or for that matter, even a short time of it. Of course I would never ask such an insensitive, rhetorical question. I knew my duty was to just gaze upon her various belongings, smile, and try to concoct the occasional benign, flattering question such as: “Where did you ever find such beautiful towels?”
I live in a relatively small condo with two assigned parking spots outside my front door. There is a modest, wood-plank deck outside my back door whereupon sits two lawn chairs and a metal table. Step inside and things do not get any fancier. For the record; I generally keep my home clean and neat. I vacuum every other day and change the bedsheets every three days. But as for my possessions; I have a rather elderly tan sofa that is made of some fabric that would easily survive a nuclear blast. My old, wooden coffee table is barren except for a TV remote and an assortment of coffee cup rings embedded into its surface. The TV is perched on a wobbly wooden stand. I can only hope it will not collapse under the weight of the television. My elderly kitchen table is hand-painted flat black. I’m not sure which decade it was manufactured, or which century, for that matter. My modest kitchen, two bedrooms, and my lone bathroom all basically match a single theme and that is; “no theme”. Most of my furniture was spare or unwanted furniture given to me by friends or relatives about five years ago when I first lived on my own. When I moved in with a previous boyfriend, my stuff went into storage. I intended to eventually donate it or more likely, throw it all away, but I never got around to it. Today that boyfriend is long gone but the furniture remains.
I have a job that pays well. I could afford better furnishings but get this; I [I]love [/I]my condo, I really do. I love how I live in it. It is amazingly comfortable place to reside. I remember when my current boyfriend first saw my abode, he jokingly cracked, “Wow, I like what you’ve done with the place.” He was being funny but I took it as a compliment nevertheless. It was a humorous salute to my distinct lack of materialism.
I remember I brewed my boyfriend some coffee that afternoon and after he took a sip, he wanted to set the cup on the well-worn coffee table in front of him. “Katie, I want to put this down. Do you have a coaster?”
“Steve, look at that table,” I responded with a grin. “A coaster? Are you kidding me?”
I’m happy for my girlfriend. She is obviously very proud of her home. But I have the kind of place where I want to live, and I do mean [I]live[/I].
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