I took a huge and probably irrevokable step towards looming, hulking, stale-smelling adulthood this week. We purchased matching recliners.
Not only that, when we got them home, I discovered the only way to satisfactorily place them in the house is to use the Grandma design schema. You know - two chairs next to each other seperated by a small table on which to pile the remote, your glasses, and whatever you are attempting read during the commercials.
That is bad enough. But... then I realized there is a perfect space between the chairs and slightly under the table for the wastebasket. At first I was excited about this - the elegant efficiency of the whole arrangement. But then I took a step back and realized I had achieved an almost perfect replica of my grandmother's living room.
Its soooo ordinary. Like mashed potatoes...