Furniture doesn’t mean furmature. Wait, did that even make sense? I’m furunsure.

Am I an adult yet guys? I’ve been waiting so ever long and yet I still feel like adulthood escapes me. I’m trying, I swear. I’ve been making myself healthy meals, trying to get trace hours of sleep, doing regular washing and cleaning. I’m putting in the time to keep myself on the rails. In the ultimate test of grown up-titude my flatmate and I even went out and bought a table.

That’s right. No longer do we have a ready breakdance floor in our kitchen/living room. Instead we have a large wooden structure that opens the door to a host of entertaining options. Board game days, dinner parties and extra food prep space are all now on the… well, table I guess. Oh the parties we’ll throw once we get more than 3 chairs. With the table leaves it’s probably large enough to seat 8-10 people. Whether our lounge is large enough is another question entirely. Still, we don’t stand on ceremony enough to reject the notion of just moving things around to fit. The table’s a sturdy, heavy bastard that’s not in perfect condition, but will suit our needs just right. Picked it up for $110 altogether down from $500 or so, because whoever assembled it got a bit manic when screwing in the bases, leaving bolt cracks in the top of the table. Fine by us, it’s bound to get damaged through negligence anyway.

We headed along to a furniture seconds factory at the end of our street, braving the boxing day crowds. Figured that if we didn’t make the effort to go and see what was out there, a table wasn’t just gonna work its way into our lounge on its own. Aladdin lied to us, sentient furniture’s clearly still a few years off. Seeing that most things were exponentially out of our price range, we went upstairs to the clearance/end of line section. There we found it. Solid and weighty, supported by two large pillar style bases, the thing doesn’t shake when you put your glass down. Perfect. We got a rep to ring it up and I grabbed an ex-showroom soundbar for $40 while I was at it. Living room sorted.

$70 for delivery they said, despite the fact that we were 2 minutes’ drive away. The other option they suggested was trying a taxi company, but the table was practically the size of the car. Seemed unlikely at best. So we opted for the next viable option: carrying the thing ourselves. It was only a 10 minute walk each way, so if we removed the legs to make it manageable we could bust this thing out in under an hour. Plan sorted. Meeting the guys down at the loading dock we told them our plan. We got a quizzical brow in exchange. “You’re the first to try that” he admitted, handing us a leg, some bolts and a table leaf. Slinging the chunky legs over our shoulders, we hustled down the road with our bearable burdens. Those bearable burdens burned soon enough, shoulders firing up with exertion. Dropping things off in the flat we briefly considered just leaving the table top. Briefly. Slinking back to the factory we mentally steeled ourselves for the return journey by complaining profusely.

However heavy the legs were, the top was heavier. Much heavier than we’d expected. We’d gotten ourselves into this mess now though, it was a matter of pride. We made it as far as the street corner and watched the oncoming traffic before putting it down. Shit. Only 9.5 more minutes. My flatmate noticed a white pick-up doing a U-turn and called out to him. Any chance he could give us a quick ride down the road? “Sure” he replied, “just gimme a couple of bucks for gas and we’re square”. Never hurts to ask, right? He chucked it on the back and strapped it down. 2 minutes later we were pulling it in the front door. $10 to circumvent something we’d rather not do (and potentially more damage to the table)? Capitalism, how I do love thee.

Now we have this huge structure in our living room and pending plans to make use of it already. It seems any attempts to breakdance will now need to be tabletop or Coyote Ugly style.

So yeah, owning a table clearly doesn’t instantly make me an adult.

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2 responses to “Furniture doesn’t mean furmature. Wait, did that even make sense? I’m furunsure.

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