Day Three: Playing House

I'm having a party tomorrow so naturally I tried to buy new furniture today, actually this afternoon. I had bought a new couch last month, but it has yet to arrive despite the fact that the credit card charge got here two weeks ago. So people are coming over and they will see the Striped-and-stained Monstrosity that clashes with everything, the couch I dragged from Grad school in Louisiana to Adulthood in Georgia.

The Better-half of the Volleyball Couple told me that home ownership does not make one fully an adult. No, one cannot truly be an adult until one has bought a brand new couch, she declared! Used couches do not count, even if they are purchased.

Two summers ago I was forced to buy a house because the rental I was living in went on the market--when I was out of the country for a month. Being that the rental market is tight in this small town and that I was staring at 40, I decided to buy a house.

Last February my writer friend, who also happens to be a great decorator, declared that it was time for me to embrace being a Homeowner, an Adult, no longer a Grad Student, a Child. She said I needed to mark that passage by having my friends come to my home and paint at least one room in my house. So paint we did. This summer I got carpet to cover up the particle board that was exposed when I had taken the carpet up off the supposedly "all wood" floors.

Still there is much to be done. But the procrastination comes not because I am overwhelmed at the number of task, rather, I can’t believe I’m doing this, buying stuff, fixing stuff, like a real grown-up.

Furniture just adds to the complications.

I sometimes hate furniture stores because they are the realm of couples all whispering and exchanging secret couple code about what they can afford, cannot afford, what they both like, or one half of the couple likes and the other does not. When I have shopped for furniture with a boyfriend in tow or alone, I’m often surprised at the weirdness I begin to feel, like I'm playing house or I've escaped from a novel by Sartre.

So I never make purchases until I have to: a house, the washing machine, new paint, chairs, I never buy for the joy, but rather out of my American definition of necessity.

Couches, beds, end tables, area rugs, all form a psychic map pointing at the weird choices I have made in my life that led me to that moment, standing in Haverty's staring at a $1,500* couch wondering at such a thing that could cost that much that I'd even think of buying alone.

*[Author's update: Since several of my friends have commented on the price of the couch, let the record reflect I only contemplated the $1500 couch; I ended up buying a $579 couch--no tax & free delivery. The couch may be new but the budget is still grad school!]