I Hate My Pants

Note to New Readers: There's a happy ending 99% of the time here. Now, on with it ...

Yesterday, I hated my pants. Don't know WHAT I was thinking. Yes, I do. I was thinking they were a gift in my size, and they were clean, and they were on the top of the pile, and I was in a hurry. It seemed like a good idea. Except for the weird boot cut. Which should NOT be made in short-pudgy-people-sizes. So. I spent my day in red velour rap-star pants. And, so help me, I even spent about an hour in the matching shirt/jacket.

Have you ever noticed that nothing seems to go right when you're wearing bad pants? Well, things here went quickly downhill if not straight off a very tall cliff.

Remember how much I love my dining table? A year later and I still absolutely love it. The cut is just ... right. The dimension, the design, the finish. Its all just perfectly right. (Take a big breath) We realized it won't fit in the dining spot in the new house. I could feel my pupils dilating. My husband assured me with barely contained glee that he was sure it would fit somewhere else in the house. Its a big house, lots of spots! I can't blame him for the glee. The only two spots it will fit realistically is his office and ... his other office. I'm still going to experiment with that trick of switching the living room and dining room, but I'm not overly optimistic. At least its a table we both like. A lot.

And my brilliant husband, who loves me at least as much as I love my table, pointed out that I could shop for a new table! While he meant well, this did not cheer my heart. I hate shopping for furniture. Its expensive. Its hard to find exactly what I want that he also wants, and I'm not the kind of wife to just make him suffer.

Then he had a thought. I could ask a cabinet maker we like to duplicate it in a more appropriate size and perhaps in a more compatible finish. Except the cabinet maker is in another state and has a long waiting list. Then he had another thought. Perhaps the guy could be cajoled into a working vacation to do all the cabinet work in the house! I have little faith in that working out, but I'll pursue it.

At that point, he might have noticed that the pants had sucked the life out of me. Its hard to be optimistic wearing those pants. I could feel the down-fall of civilization as we know it just around the corner while wearing those pants. No wonder rap songs are so depressing! They're wearing the wrong pants!

As soon as I realized this, I took a bubbly-bath to get rid of any residual pant-attitude and settled into a soft-flannel-robe-thing. I plopped on the sofa to hold the baby. Who did NOT immediately spit on me. Things were looking up! Then I looked at a magazine while she dozed on my shoulder.

There. It. Was. The right sofa. The very most right sofa ever. The perfectly right room design for our new house. Right colors. Right furniture. Just ... right. By the same company that made my table. I caught my breath, shakily marking the page to look at later, not really trusting that I had found the solution so easily to so much anguish about what to do with the first floor! I looked at it again this morning. Its still right!

Tonight, I'll show my husband. Who will be shocked at how much he loves its rightness. Its the complete opposite of our current house, which is indeed painted like a children's museum. The new house, at least the first floor, is most likely going to be a sophisticated taupe and ivory and some yet-to-be-determined accent color. Perhaps a pale robins-egg-turqoise-blue. The floors are teak, and the molding matches the floors. It will be fabulous. I can't tell you what a RELIEF it is finally have a vision!

And did you notice that all the good stuff happened as soon as I got rid of those pants!?!


Oh! Oh! Oh! Teak floors!!! :-)

And I hear you about that table. I've got a yellow formica table in my kitchen (1950s retro, with matching chairs) which I would not give up for anything. In fact I like it so much, it even convinced me to consign the kitchen table of my childhood (which my folks gave me when I moved here) to "work desk" status out on the back porch.

Paul Burgess | 02/08/2006 - 11:52 AM
Make Waves

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