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I think, after a year and a half of moving from small apartment to slightly-less-small apartment, (4 in all) the thing I have longed for most is the luxury of a table. This may seem simple and stupid, but when you don't have room for a table, you lose a small piece of the idea of "home." Because a table, it's a hub, you eat at it, you stack stuff on it, you dress it up for holidays... Anyway, I'm being silly. but I finally have my dream table. Craigslist, people, seriously, I knew if I waited, it would appear, and it did. Small enough to fit our little nook, and a perfect two-seater when the drop leaves are dropped, but can accomodate ten if you put in all the leaves and, well, buy more chairs.
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The best part, though, is that now I can use all of the vintage tablecloths I have been collecting in anticipation of table-ownership. Tammis Keefe, anyone?
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Yes, please. Also, I can start taking artful photographs of the pretty things I eat for breakfast.
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Except, of course, that I leave the house before the sun makes an appearance and I generally breakfast on "fun size" candy bars...