Desk, The Story of Life or Us (maybe both)

When I moved into my first apartment at the beginning of April, I opted not to take most of the furniture from my mom’s house. This was going to be MY place and I took only a small secretary that belonged to my grandmother, a cedar chest, my great grandmother’s chair, and the bedroom set. I was lucky enough at the time to have the means to go buy a small apartment’s worth of furniture. Of course, there was the excitement of buying new but for me, it was just the desire not to be reminded at every turn of the old house.

So I went furniture shopping a week after I moved in and then had to wait an additional week and a half for the furniture to be delivered. I went two and a half weeks with said furniture, a TV tray that doubled as a computer desk, and a little TV on a rolling cart. I ate on two plastic tubs stacked on each other. I didn’t mind; I was just happy to have MY OWN place. I was glad I was there to help my mom in her last few years and months but I had a huge need for just needing a place of my own. I’m 38, after all.

One of the items on my list to buy was a really nice writing desk and I found one that matched the wood of the rest of the furniture I picked out. The only problem was that the one that was in perfect condition wouldn’t be in for a couple months. They offered me a loaner; the exact desk I bought but it was scratched and dinged. It wasn’t perfect. I was fine with that; I even offered to keep it at the time if they knocked the price down but that didn’t fly (commissions, you know). As my students say, “Whatever.”

My furniture came and I quickly settled at my desk. I loved it; it was perfect for me. I didn’t care about the scratches and dings; they really weren’t that noticeable and I didn’t mind them. They reminded me of us. Despite the media images out there and the constant bombardment about being perfect, the human race isn’t perfect. Humans have their own dings and scratches, both inside and out. A lot of women out there aren’t meant to be a single digit dress size and the ideal of men out there (tall, muscular) isn’t always achievable either and I’ve met both men and woman who are the supposed ideals but they have dings and scratches that aren’t on the outside but are on the inside.

I’d truly forgotten that my desk I fell in love with would soon be exchanged for the perfect one. When the furniture company called last week, I was a bit somber about giving my desk up but again, they wouldn’t let me keep it. I unloaded the desk this morning and took one last picture of it. I didn’t care about its imperfections.

When the movers came, the head guy looked at the old desk and then when down to the truck. He came back up to my apartment and said the new desk was even in worse condition. I’d had enough. I told the guy I wanted to keep my original desk, that I didn’t mind the scratches and dings. He was a little confused but said he’d call Minnesota (where the company is located) and maybe they could send a technician out to fill in the scratches and give it a little color. When the lady called from Minnesota a little while later, I declined the technician. “I like it just the way it is,” I told her.

A little part of me is hoping that one day I’ll find that special guy who will love me just the way I am; dings and scratches and insecurities and all. (Although to be honest, I wouldn’t mind being just a few pounds lighter, I know I’m never going to be a single digit dress size; I just want to be at a healthier weight is all.)

And in case you’re wondering, I didn’t even ask for any sort of price break on my desk.