When I bought my home, I couldn’t wait to decorate it.
I bought furniture that looked comfy, was perfect for my taste, and had the right price tag on it.
I had to admit that my choice of items was eclectic, or atrocious as my sister noted, but I had to live with it, and live with it. I did. It didn’t take long for me to realize just how atrocious my furniture was. I dreaded coming home because I had to look at that ridiculously hideous furniture. The only room I was calm in was my kitchen. It’s hard to be nervous and antsy when you have a pretty kitchen picnic table and chairs, and nothing else but kitchen appliances. I would bake cookies or plan a gourmet meal, just so I could stay in the kitchen longer. When I realized I was gaining weight from my follies, I called my mom. I understood what my sister meant when she said my home was atrocious, and I wanted some interior design help. Mom asked if I had a return window, and I told her ninety days. She called the furniture store and had the furniture returned, all but a few solid wood items. I swore I didn’t need interior design help, but mom told me I was wrong. She called her friend, who was an interior designer, and asked for her help. Mom’s friend kicked me out and told me to leave the interior design to her. I gave her my budget and headed to my mom’s. Two weeks later, the interior designer called my mom and told her to bring me over. My home looked fabulous.