“It looks like office furniture,” my husband said, standing back to observe the nearly six-foot credenza we’d somehow maneuvered up two flights of stairs.
“It is office furniture,” I told him, exasperated. “See, there is a stamp on the inside. It’s like art deco or something.”
I was grasping, reaching for words to justify the purchase. I didn’t like how it looked up against the pale pink wall or how the honey-colored wood somehow perfectly matched the floor. Still, I lied to myself.
“I love it,” I proclaimed while placing candles and plants and stacks of magazines. Maybe it would eventually grow on me.
The credenza was a FB marketplace find. It was the type of furniture I love most: A screaming deal ($50) that comes with a story. Like the tiny coffee table I bought when we lived in London and then packed on a plane when we returned to the USA.
“It’s so much better than IKEA!" the owner Ewa exclaimed, pointing out the small tiles and wood grains as we stood in the Tesco parking lot. For a…
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