So one thing I’ve learned about turning 25, is that 25 is the age when you start getting really excited about grown up gifts. Like furniture! And electric mixers! And area rugs! And houseplants! And all of the things that occupy store areas I used to avoid.
For my 25th birthday, my parents got me a dining room table, and it ranks right up there with the the Barbie Dreamhouse I received on my 5th Christmas as the Best Gift I’ve Ever Received. I’ve lived in my apartment for over two years now and I’ve never had a real table. I have two tiny little tables in my living room that I got from Urban Outfitters when I first moved in that have kind of been my everything these past two years. They are about two feet tall, made of metal and really lightweight – very portable – and have, at various times, been a writing desk, an oscillating fan stand, a coffee table, a laptop stand, a dining table for one and, when pushed together, a dining table for two. I’ve really gotten my $25 worth out of those tables.
I have a dining room in my apartment that I’ve always used as an office. But, sometime in the last six months, I’ve started getting an itch for a real table. It all started when I decided that the space in my dining room/office was not being used to its maximum potential. My desk is tiny, the room is big – lots of unused space. So I moved everything to one side of the room and, when complete, it dawned on me that a smallish dining room table would fit in the new space. I started daydreaming about having a table: What would it be like? How would it feel? I imagined the things I would do at the table: eat, work, spread out papers, if nothing else, use for extra surface space. The seed was planted and I wanted (needed) a table.
So my parents said that, for my birthday, they would buy me a dining room table. I went to a local furniture store and, upon walking in the door, I was greeted by Mike, the furniture salesman. I told him I was looking for a dining room table. He immediately led me to some Walton-family-style tables – “Not in my apartment, Mike!” – I told him I was looking for something a lot smaller. So he led me to the other side of the store, and I saw it. My dining room table. The one I would call my own. It was actually called a “pub table” because it’s small, round, and sits up a little higher than a regular dining room table. It was made of glass and metal, and it was exactly what I wanted.
So I got the table home and it was perfect. It fit exactly into the space I had for it. And I use it all the time, seriously, for all the things I thought I would use it for and then some. I’m actually sitting at the table typing this right now. I didn’t know what I was missing for the last two years. If I had known how much use I would get out of it, I would have gotten it a long time ago.
It makes me wonder what else I don’t have that I need. A hutch? A really big flat-screen TV? An espresso machine? I mean, I don’t think I need these things, but I also didn’t think I needed glasses until the first time I wore a pair and realized I couldn’t see.
So anyway, I really love my table. It’s everything I dreamed of and more. But, the fact that I get this excited about a table – it really makes me feel old.
