True Story

I once had a friend who said that he makes “the good the enemy of the perfect.”  This means, he always waited for the perfect moment to do something, only to realize that perfect moment never comes, and time has escaped you.

When I moved into my first place without a roommate, my house was full of hand me down furniture.  A gifted dresser here, my old bed there.  These were all blessings, and in good condition, so I’m not at all complaining.  I happen to be one of those people who believe that if I’m your friend, we can sit on your floor eating fish sticks, corn and Big Shot soda (if you have to ask, you’ll never know), and it will forever rank as one of life’s highlights.  Having new furntire, to me, though moderately superficial, would mean that I was really a grown up.

After months of saving and searching, I went on my quest.  In January of 2005, I told my dad to come meet me at Kirschman’s, because I’d found my sofa and chair.  It was a plush, deep blue number, with huge throw pillows.  It came with a matching chair and ottoman.  The biggest reason I bought it, was because I saw myself in that big cushy chair, under the toastiest of fleece blankets, drinking coffee or pinot noir, and watching my favorite movie.  I dreamed of the perfect moment, when the kids were gone, and I didn’t have homework (I was at UNO at the time), and all the dishes were done, and the laundry was folded.  My reward was going to be to sit in my big cushy chair and relax.

I always had homework.  When you have two children, the laundry is never done; sometimes that fleece blanket is one of the things in the dirty clothes.  There’s always another dish to be washed.  We went from Martin Luther King, Jr. Day to Mardi Gras; from Mardi Gras to Easter; Easter to Memorial Day, Memorial Day to the Fourth of July.  Still I longed for the perfect moment.  August of that year, I drove to my sister’s house in Shreveport, never having sat in that chair.

When I returned, I was on vacation, had no homework, my dishes were all done, and all of my laundry was cleaned.  But that place was no longer my home, and my chair no longer existed.

It makes me wonder why I bothered to get it in the first place.


5 responses to “True Story

  1. Effects of the big K seen in a new light. I really like this. I find myself here in this space instead of doing my assignments. You. Have. To. Stop. (*just kidding*)

  2. You know what? As fucked up as it sounds, acquiring things is one of the ways by which we define ourselves. We all know that we “can’t take it with us.” But try getting the same feeling that you got when you bought that chair from washing dishes.

  3. sorry shug “take that take that, i thought i told you that we don’t stop, i thought i told you that we don’t stop uh uh uh uh” i have problems lol.

    but andre…i hate washing dishes. i REALLY do. can we try another analogy?

  4. I feel the same way about the black linen outfit and new shoes that sat in the closet for six months. I was waiting to be invited somewhere special to wear them.

    I need more explanation on the dish washing theory.

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