This morning Bob Vila popped onto the television screen in a commercial for flooring. No surprise there. He said that a room is a reflection of me (the owner, decorator, housekeeper, I surmise). Then, he blathered on about how a beautiful floor is the foundation of the room. Blah, blah, blah.
But it got me to thinking. (It got me to run instantly to my laptop and record my thoughts before they vacated the premises.) What do MY rooms say about me? Considering there are numerous rooms in the house, three of which are inhabited by my messy offspring, and two are restrooms utilized by these swine masquerading as older children, it might be helpful to narrow that down to one room. Say . . . the living room.
Hmmm. The Spanish moss green walls and jewel-tone blue accessories say I prefer color to a neutral palette. They also say, "Guess what? We need painting. Again!" Um, the brown leather couch and easy chair, along with the dark cherry wood entertainment center reveal my affection for natural textures. (The worn easy chair, with its matching eruptions of stuffing on either side of the foot rest, let a person know we use things until they fall apart . . . and we own a ruffian of a feline who can't keep his outdoor fighting claws to himself.) It's readily apparent that I admire the artistic works of my beloved relatives: the enlarged prints of Colorado mountain scenes taken by my Uncle Zan that adorn the wall behind our sizable Samsung flatscreen -- which screams "MY HUSBAND BOUGHT THIS!" -- and the seascape framed painting created by my Grandma Opal hanging over the fireplace are dead giveaways.
Digging a bit deeper, beyond the furnishings, it appears that I wash a fair amount of clothing, delicates and cotton by the looks, that should never, ever, EVER see the inside of a dryer; but I think the tiered metal drying-rack stationed in front of the aforementioned fireplace reflects and balances the other metal elements in the open room -- for instance, the doorknobs. Feng shui, MY way! Neat rows of DVD's state my admiration for Julia Roberts and good drama. The weights, Thighmaster, and Bosu ball in the corner say, "My husband's music studio is too small to double as an exercise room. Welcome to my workout studio." (There's that husband character again!) A pile of large floor pillows in the corner suggests I don't mind possible bed bug or mini-mite infestations because they've been in use for well over ten years!
The surfaces of the stacked coffee table books, and the coffee and end tables themselves, reveal my well-reasoned thesis that DUST HAPPENS, why fight it? And the carpet simply declares, "Surely you recall that this blogger mentioned earlier that she must lay claim to three messy children. Those children have friends. And they all wear shoes and conveniently forget the 'no-shoe rule.' And they sneak food in here. Please, take up a collection so she can replace my spotted compacted self with those gorgeous durable hardwood floors that Bob Vila says will best reflect her personality to any and all who enter!"
Thanks, Bob, for nudging me to get in touch with who I am. I imagine my company over the past year already has.
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