That little yellow table became a symbol of freedom, independence and our irrepressible natures. For the past eight years and ten months, that yellow table has held a prominent place in each house that I’ve called home. Living in my current neighborhood is an older woman who has “adopted” me for all intents and purposes and every time she cleans house, I get new furniture. Her recent spring cleaning brought me three tall media towers. Each one about four to four and half feet, two feet square, with frosted glass shelves and pitch black.
Fortunately these towers came at a time when our old media center was falling apart. After Scott gleefully and with such unadulterated pleasure destroyed the old entertainment center (I really should have taken pictures of that) I set the new towers up with the idea of using the yellow table to put the TV on. The height and length are perfect to fit between the two shelves. When I set it up it was exactly what I needed and the best part? I didn’t need to spend money on a new table. Needless to say, so I’ll say it anyway, it looked silly and rather misplaced.
And so for the sake of continuity and the fact that our little yellow table was looking pretty beat up, I bought some paint. Standing in front of the rows of spray paint in Home Depot, I was overcome with such melancholy and sadness. With tears in my eyes, I choose a nice premium primer and black semi gloss. The salesman who earlier stopped to ask if I needed any help kept glancing at me with concern from the paint mixing station. I grabbed some sandpaper and a drop cloth and left before I truly started crying. Who would have thought painting a table would be so emotional?
And so, Dear Manda, with apologies, our yellow table in no more. It is now pitch black and shiny. I think that we both knew this day might come but I left our signatures on the bottom. And though I still have a dorm-room feel throughout my house it now fits in with some of my other furniture.