I fold...sort of

I am saying farewell to my folding table tonight. I should say, my folding table as I know it. With its slightly imperfect textured green vinyl tabletop. I bought this table for six dollars. I loved the idea of a table I could move by myself- partly because I had to walk a mile home with it awkwardly tucked under my armpit. Mostly because I couldn't imagine staying in this city long enough to justify a permanent table. The table's roundness appealed to me- far more gentrified than a square. I vowed that it would never be without a tablecloth. I found the surface of the table unbearable to look at. But time changes the way we see things. I have recently become almost mesmerized by its Spartan appeal. Its complete disregard for aesthetic.


Tomorrow I am painting its imperfect surface with chalkboard paint. An idea that occurred to me over a month ago, along with the notion of writing people's names on the table in lieu of placecards. I make a lot of decisions based on the instances in which I entertain. Kind of like Martha Stewart buying a lot of sweatpants for those times when she really veg's out. I look forward to sharing the end result- and throwing a party to celebrate it.