Here’s a question that wouldn’t have occurred to me in my seventies: When should you stop buying furniture? In other words, what should we do about our on-the-way-to-looking shabby living room love seats? The furniture-cleaning specialists told me they couldn’t guarantee that the fabric wouldn’t ripple (whatever that means) if they were cleaned again. Could I bear to go fabric shopping and live without them while they were reupholstered for some outlandish dent in our children’s inheritance? It’s a dilemma.
Two years ago when we moved out of our home of twenty-three years, we couldn’t take our wonderful king-sized sofa bed that lived in the basement because we had remodeled the kitchen and it could not be brought up the stairs. Fortunately, the people who bought our house were delighted to have it stay. However, in haste we replaced it with a sleeping sofa we don’t like. You can’t curl up on it. It’s stiff and boring. Guests (including our children) have slept on it without complaining, but we know it doesn’t measure up.
That one was easy. An hour in our favorite furniture store and in a few weeks, we’ll be cuddling in front of the TV in comfort again.
Still, I wonder if it isn’t is too late to buy new furniture.