I bought a rug from Pottery Barn. It was on clearance – a FINAL SALE rug. It had either been displayed in the store (which means it may have seen its fair share of foot traffic) – or someone bought it and later returned it.
Either way, I felt like I’d stumbled upon a great deal. Originally, the rug cost $359, but I got it for a steal. That’s right, a steal, at 150 bucks and some change.
I was so proud when I found this bargain, figuring Pottery Barn had an understated panache; I pictured the rug adorning the floor of a beachfront property in Martha’s Vineyard. I didn’t mind having a rug like that in my home, at a reduced rate of course. There was subtlety to the design, a softness to the gray, white and yellow tones.
Now that it sits underneath our dining table, in perfect view of our recently renovated kitchen, I can see why it was a final sale rug. The darned thing sheds.
On days I’m paying attention, I find little balls of wool below my chair. Since I am the household member who most often sits at the table (doing work, of course – I like working where there’s a perfect view of our recently renovated kitchen), it must be me who kicks up the dust, so to speak. But these little fuzz balls also float around the room. Hence, I see them collecting in the foyer or along the floor’s edges, next to the freshly painted floor molding.
It drives me nuts.
Pickiness is in my DNA. My grandmother could spot a piece of lint five miles away. And my mother, well, she had one of those homes where you could eat off the floor. Not that you would – she’d have you arrested.
I’m more of a wannabe neatnik who’s too lazy to clean all the time (even though I’m constantly wiping my husband’s paw prints off the brand new stainless steel appliances in our, wait for it, recently renovated kitchen).
While I still like the rug (after all, I’m one of those unconditional love people) I am a little disappointed that it acts like a toddler, forcing me to pick up after it all the time. The rug was meant to complement all the changes in our home – we also painted, refinished wood floors and bought new living room furniture, overdue updates in our empty-nest abode. Instead, it has me running around the house with a hand-held vacuum like a maid at the Hampton Inn.
Well, being an inanimate object, at least it can’t mistake a brand new custom-made pillow from La-Z-Boy for a chew toy. Nope, that would be the work of our year-old pup, Queenie, who otherwise brings joy to a couple this close to their, um, twilight years.