I kind of suck at interior decorating. Always have. My house is probably one step away from being a fully functional bachelor pad. I visit other folks’ houses and am just aghast at all the “stuff” they have. Tchotchkes and thingamabobs and even huge armoirs to display all their thingamabobs! Houses filled to bursting with furniture everywhere. All I see is stuff, stuff, stuff.

I hear people say they have “outgrown” their house.  WOW.  What the hell does that mean?  Their bodies certainly are not getting bigger, so big that they can no longer fit in their house.  The only logical explanation is that what they really mean is “We have accumulated so much STUFF that we are going to actually sell our house and buy a bigger one in order to have more room for more stuff.”   I just cannot imagine ever doing that.  I can’t even imagine considering the prospect of doing that.  I’d break out the trash bags before I did that!

My house? Not so much. We have couches. The first couches we ever bought. Same ones. Totally functional. We have book cases. With books on them, not stuffed with dinglehoppers. We have a beautiful china cabinet my Ganny-in-law gave us, a family heirloom. I have a couple baker’s racks in the kitchen, but only because I need space to put functional things I actually use.

Oh. And get this. In 18 years of marriage, Sarge and I have never bought bedroom furniture. NEVER. Not once. Except our mattress and box spring. The furniture we have? Yeah, it’s the very same that my momma gave us when we got married. I shit you not. And it was not family heirloom stuff. It was the stuff she and my dad were getting rid of. Seriously. And why not? It’s fine. Two chest of drawers. They aren’t broken. They hold clothes. That is what they are for, right? I have a cedar chest my momma gave me that I refinished. And it is a family heirloom. But it’s functional. I actually store shit inside it.

Our coffee table in the living room? An old dining room table from Ikea. I made Sarge cut the legs short. Ha! And why not? My kids are homeschooled. They need a functional surface on which to…. Ummm….. play with their Pokemon cards and put their laptops on to play World of Warcraft. Yeah. Homeschooled.

Stuff on my walls? Family pictures. Some things I bought in Korea. Some things my sister sent me from Japan. Some things Sarge brought home from the Philippines. Umm… ahem…. My Marauder’s map. Shut up. I also have a time turner and a replica of Harry’s wand. Dude. Shut the fuck up.

If it were up to me, I’d ditch the couches and get beanbags and lava lamps.

Apparently, Sarge has standards. Scoff!

So, anyway. Yeah. There isn’t a whole lot of evidence that a woman lives here. At least in the interior decorating department. No flowers or frilly things. Some candles and candle holders. That I actually use. On a daily basis. Some cool purple velvet lamps I bought at Hobby Lobby. That match my cool purple velvet drapes on the living room window. Because purple velvet is totally fucking groovy.

Living in a house jam-packed with doo-dads and furniture and meaningless wall art? It just screams inadequacy. Screams it. The psychology behind why someone would want to be surrounded by a self-made tomb of things and stuff fascinates me. The idea that someone would actually have couches that they don’t jump on, or beds they don’t do flips on, or coffee tables they can’t dance on is just wrong.