Understated, Danish, and, well, sexy, Teak Buffet was at the center of our decorating scheme during my marriage, and the centrality of our decorating scheme to the happiness of my marriage cannot be over-emphasized. Teak Buffet promised an elegant life, carefully honed to envelope all the important things, and exclude the superfluous. Seeing it always made me imagine cocktails, neckties, and everything in its place. How i longed to live up to the expectations Teak Buffet set. Yes, I know. I was, in fact, married to Teak Buffet.
Finding Teak Buffet was the fulfillment of many dreams. It proved i was capable of staking a claim to the very early morning hours, shoulder to shoulder with the dealers. It proved that i had an eye…whatever that means. More sinisterly, it also proved i had some usefulness in my relationship. If i couldn’t produce enough income to support a more perfect, mid-century ranch, i could at least supply the perfect furnishings at low, low prices. Or so i thought the bargain went.
Teak Buffet bore witness to the unspoken dialogue of my relationship like a lawyer, or a three year old. There was not much sophisticated gaiety. No neckties. Nothing was ever in its place. Little did I realize the booby prize i brought with me when i moved Teak Buffet into my post divorce home. It constantly reminded me, “hope divided by disappointment equals psychic pain.”
Time surrounded Teak Buffet with an air of permanence which seemed impenetrable, as if i had been born lugging the thing like an umbilical cord. So i think the only person more surprised than my ex-husband that I didn’t want it any more, was me. Teak Buffet left my apartment yesterday, and while i feel some pangs of loneliness, its absence is a relief. To let go of what you will never have, of what you are hoping will be, and just look at the empty wall, is like breathing…unconflicted, and obviously necessary, once you have spent enough time trying not to do it.
Poor Teak Buffet. I hope the ex doesn’t fill it with anything more than napkins.