Tomorrow I'm having a twin bed (mattress and frame) delivered to my apartment. It's for my guest bedroom, and a Christmas present from my parents. I'm really excited (probably too much so) for it to get here. I was thinking about it last night when I realized this is the first piece of furniture I'll own that's new. Sometimes I wonder how I made it almost to 26 before owning a piece of new furniture. (And yes, besides the guest bedroom the rest of the apartment is fully furnished!) Does this make me officially an adult? As weirdly giddy as I am about this bed, it got me thinking about the rest of my furnishings.
The rest of my apartment is outfitted in hand-me-down furniture or rummage sale buys. I really love that most of my furniture has a story behind it. My kitchen table is the one I grew up frosting Christmas cookies on at my grandmother's condo. My desk is an antique that I stole my mother's pens out of when I was younger. My comfy living room chair is one I remember perching on the arms of to hear stories from my relatives at Thanksgiving. My bedroom set is the one my dad bought just out of college for $50 at a Goodwill that he had to strip of it's lime green paint. Even the stuff I bought used has some fun stories. The coffee table is a once expensive (brand name) table Manda and I spent one summer day covering in acrylic paint with her newly learned sponging technique. My lime green Pier 1 couch, purchased off a former college acquaintance, was the bane of my mother's living room for a good 4 months, and the reason I was home the weekend of my last visit with my grandmother that she was truly lucid.
I love all this history, most of which will never really mean anything to anyone else, but makes my apartment home. In case, you were worried this poor bed would be without a story, the headboard will be from my mom's first bed out of college ;)
The rest of my apartment is outfitted in hand-me-down furniture or rummage sale buys. I really love that most of my furniture has a story behind it. My kitchen table is the one I grew up frosting Christmas cookies on at my grandmother's condo. My desk is an antique that I stole my mother's pens out of when I was younger. My comfy living room chair is one I remember perching on the arms of to hear stories from my relatives at Thanksgiving. My bedroom set is the one my dad bought just out of college for $50 at a Goodwill that he had to strip of it's lime green paint. Even the stuff I bought used has some fun stories. The coffee table is a once expensive (brand name) table Manda and I spent one summer day covering in acrylic paint with her newly learned sponging technique. My lime green Pier 1 couch, purchased off a former college acquaintance, was the bane of my mother's living room for a good 4 months, and the reason I was home the weekend of my last visit with my grandmother that she was truly lucid.
I love all this history, most of which will never really mean anything to anyone else, but makes my apartment home. In case, you were worried this poor bed would be without a story, the headboard will be from my mom's first bed out of college ;)
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