In my bedroom I have a bed, but that’s it. No dressers, drawers, tall boys, low boys, bedside cabinets, wardrobes or scotch chests. I only have one laundry basket that I use as a bucket for my socks. My closet is full and my clothes are disorganized, a mess, they compete with my feet for floor space.
I’m almost thirty so I should buy furniture, be mature, poop poop. Shopping annoys me and I’m a designer, so I’m picky and I like expensive things. For two weeks I’ve looked through magazines and stores to no avail. I complain to friends.
“I’m trying to find bedroom furniture. It’s so hard,” I whine.
“Anything. I’m not sure. The more I read the more I’m confused.”
“Confused? Confused about what?”
“Wood and joints.”
Did I just say wood and joints in the same sentence? Yes Jeffrey, yes I did.
I told a friend about my purchase. “I finally bought a scotch chest for my room. I found a great deal,” I said.
“That’s good to hear,” he said.
“I should have it in a week. It’s being shipped from Christchurch.”
“What? Will it be smashed with free bricks in the drawers?”
- american-ism (25)
- catholic-ism (9)
- guilt (7)
- code (11)
- css (6)
- jeffrey-ism (641)
- kiwi-ism (53)
- Uncategorized (11)