I SO hate going furniture shopping with Martin. Frankly, if it were up to him, we'd be sitting on tree stumps —
In front of a Samsung Hi-Def 40-inch flat-panel LCD HDTV, of course.
(And men wonder how they gotten the rep for being Neanderthals?)
But the ratty old couch in the media room has now been tossed, and I refuse to take a chainsaw to the live oak in the back yard, so yeah, he had to come along to look at sofas and chairs….
You would have thought I'd asked him to visit a proctologist.
He wasn't to eager for leather, my first choice. The space could really use a sectional.
Then again, wouldn't a couple (or three, or four) of those nice, comfy loungers do just as well, if not better?
Not at a couple of thou a piece, they won't. No one should have to mortage their house in order to furnish one room in it.
But let's face it: In today's society, you are what you sit on.
Take Goldie Locks, for example. When it came down to it, size really had nothing to do with her game of musical chairs. Taste, on the other hand, was the determining factor in Goldie’s decision to park it in Baby Bear’s rocker:—unlike Papa Bear’s Sears special and Mama Bear’s white wicker, Baby’s was a fabulous Beidermeier knock-off.
This is the same reason Ralph Lauren drapes his models on brocaded chaise lounges and fur rugs: who would buy a $1200 cashmere suit after seeing it on some skinny witch sprawled on a bean bag?
Why do women enjoy roaming through furniture showrooms and designer showcases? Because how we furnish our homes is the first step we take in creating our ideal fantasy world, our grown-up version of Barbie's Dream House.
These fantasies began on our parents’ living room couches. There, during those first awkward, heated kisses on the nervous boy next door, we accidently left lipstick marks on our mothers’ sofa pillows. Cable operators’ may be dismayed to learn that the couch was truly the first piece of interactive furniture in our living rooms).
The dream continued with our very first apartments, where our furnishings changed with our evolving tastes: out went the papasan chair, in went the Herman Miller; we traded our futon for a Michel Ducaroy classic, our lava lamps for flu wall sconces.
Mission (style) accomplished, we thought we’d live happily ever after.
Then we got married, and fantasy collided with the reality of our beloved’s green plaid Herculon Barcalounger.
Today we go into furniture stores, dragging our darlings kicking and screaming behind us. Does he care that we now have a choice of either down-filled or foam cushions? Of course not. Does he care that we can get the new couch treated with the latest high-tech stain resistant? Get real. Or that Streamline furniture is making a comeback? Hardly.
To the man in your life, a sectional by any other name will feel as lumpy once his 190 pounds go horizontal and break it in during the football season.
We would all like to believe that a woman’s home is her castle. By way of example, consider this: Snow White might have moved in with the Seven Dwarfs to save her life, but she moved out to save her sanity. The thought of living with seven Barcaloungers was just too much to bear; sure, Prince Charming might have owned one too, but all Snow White would have had to say is, “Honey, it clashes too much with that new suit of armor I just bought you. Let’s put it in the dungeon for now…”
Pity the poor prisoners.
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