I've always blamed my lack of adult behaviour on my patchy upbringing. When I get scared by skincare products or don't know the reason why all plates on a table must match, I blame it on my parents. They were busy with their own dramas and teaching me about how to fold a cloth napkin just wasn't high on the list. To make things worse, I'm not a girly-girl, I never was. I only knew bras and panties were supposed to match each other when I learned it on a recent Oprah show. The same goes for the way my family is run. The mother is apparently the leader in all things domestic, but if your leader has no guidebook you're likely going to go astray, it's almost assured.
Families have all sorts of secrets, ones they don't even know they have, and mine is no exception. We just hobble along not knowing we're doing things wrong, that is unless a stranger enters your home. Once the stranger is let in, the scowling look, the disdain in his eyes tells it all. You have violated a sacred domestic law. Anyone would know it- why don't you?
A stranger has entered our home. He is out of our league. We don't know people like him, we never have. And he seems to have a standard that we are not living up to no matter how hard we try. I feel terrorised in my own home. But it's too late. He's been invited, everything has been paid. There is no turning back.
Regular readers of my blog will know I recently built an office and moved into it. This left a gaping hole in our house. Apparently that hole in other homes is called a dining room. After a bit of research I realised what we needed was a dining table to take up all of the space in this new dining room. I innocently went out and bought one.
And now it's here.
I think it's obvious this dining room table has no business in our home, in a home headed by ME. Evidence can clearly be seen in this photograph.
Exhibit A: The chaotic, over full bookcases in the background.
Exhibit B: The shiny, pristine gloss of the unscratched table top.
Exhibit C: The carelessly flung computer cable in the foreground of the photo
Exhibit D: The cat hair-less olive cushions on the dining room chairs
The evidence is clear. This table does not belong in this house. It is a stranger. But it stays. It imposes its ways on us. We seem unable to withstand its demands.
As you can see I bought a vase- no more empty mayonnaise jars for flowers brought in from the garden. The Table will not have such behaviour. I've bought a tin of Mr Min- and I use it. My god- I'm even considering buying coasters and table mats!
Be warned by what has happened to my family. Offices are all well and good- but beware the gaping hole that remains behind. It may force you to do things out of character, it may have you inviting terrorists into your own home and, believe me, that can never come to anything good.