If you came to visit me today, you’d find our place very empty and echo-y.
But I’d offer you a seat in one of our two collapsible camping chairs, and serve you tea in a plastic cup.
And you’d smile, and then politely slide your cup in the drink-holder sewn into the arm of the chair.
There we would sit, admiring the large expanse of un-furnished void and contemplating the immeasurability of the universe.
If you stayed for dinner, I’d move the mail from the folding table in the living room, and serve you a one-pot dinner on our 1-of-4 plastic plates and pour some wine into your glass (you’d have to finish your tea first).
But if I wanted to entertain a large group, I’d have to plan a Bring Your Own Chair party.
Maybe you would bring one of those miniature couches for kids, and we’d all laugh at your wit. We’d play musical chairs, give prizes to the most creative choice of chair, and then maybe roast marshmallows in front of our gas fireplace.
Then we’d run out of wine and dessert, and everyone would go home with their chairs.
Even you with your kid couch.
And as I washed up our 4 plates, and straightened our two chairs, I’d dream of a future full of furniture. A future of endless possibilities.
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