Okay, so I took the plunge. My beautiful new bench is serving as the family room coffee table. He is stunning. I know it might be weird that I’m calling the bench a “he,” especially since it has a little retro-glam thing going on, but I definitely see it as a “he,” albeit quite the pretty boy.
You know the type, loads of looks, but not much substance. The whole bench weighed less that 15 lbs and I could easily carry him in by myself. Does that seem worthy a $500 investment, even if I did use a gift card?
Do you know his type?
He’s high maintenance.
Easily injured.
A bit dangerous (have you ever read the warning label on ScotchGard-- "May affect the central nervous system causing dizziness, headache or nausea...may be harmful or fatal? ")
And the table he’s replacing? Sturdy, solid, dependable, if a bit boring. It took both Tim and me to carry him out of the room and banish him to basement storage. My Old Love was handy—with two drawers for remotes, puzzles and other junk.
He fit our lifestyle, providing a large surface for laundry folding, board games and impromptu performances by the kids. He didn’t show sweat rings from glasses and bottles. He brought us together, as the four of us snuggled on the couch, dirty feet propped up on his back. He fit in with the other practical but not lovely leather furniture. I knew what to expect from him.
I can’t decide what to do with My Old Love. Should I cut him loose so someone else can benefit from his steadfast nature? Someone else would see him as #1, not as a safety date.
I know letting him move on is the right thing to do, and my yard sale is only a week away, but I’d really rather hang onto him for that day when Mr. Pretty Boy fails me, and I need someone I can count on. But is that fair, leaving him waiting in the wings until I tire of the stress and drama of my new Boy Toy?
Because right now, whenever I pass my new bench my heart quickens, oh yes it does. I like the element of sexy sophistication he brings to our house. Beer and nachos? I think not. Cocktails and crudite? Perhaps.
But I know this is not going to end well. That little voice inside me says to dump the $500 Lothario who is only going to cause me anguish and pain. It tells me if it takes this much work to make a relationship work-- the ScotchGard, the “only clear liquids rule,” the popcorn ban-- perhaps it’s not a good fit.
How long will it be before he alienates me from family and friends? Will it become Anna and The Bench against the world? Will I cease to be the fun-loving hostess of the past and instead choose evenings alone with him, intent on keeping our love, or his upholstery, pure?
Please no lectures. I realize this is just a fling. I’ve heard it all before: don’t date someone prettier than you are, stick with what you can count on, substance over style, "does he bring out the best in you?" and so on. Even the cleaning lady has weighed in, unasked, “No good. Too delicate, too beautiful, Miss Anna.” I know what I SHOULD do, what I MUST do, but what I’m choosing not to.
Please do not judge.
Girl’s turning 40 and is looking for a little furniture adventure. I just hope I don’t regret it in the morning.
