The blinds my husband bought were the bees' knees - they really made the whole room pop. Probably not much has been said about "faux wood," and maybe not much will be said about them when we're all dead and gone, but if there is one technological advance that should be given more credit, it's faux wood blinds.
Then we had another "great idea." Casually over cigarettes, my husband says something to me about how I could have the couches from the lanai and put them in my office, if I so desired. I jumped all over that like white on rice, and told him I'd take them as long as he'd help me bring them outside in the sunshine first so I could wash the grossness off them before bringing them into my pristine lair. (Okay, it might not be pristine but no one wants their office to smell like dog and cigarettes. Only the dog should smell like dog, and if the office smells like cigarettes, I'm going to wonder who's been smoking in there, which may, in turn, force me to light up in there just to test my theory, and before you know it, there's a burn mark on my new desk. Dammit.)
With the couches safely outside, I have brilliant idea #2 - let me clean the couches off with the hand-held attachment for the carpet cleaner. The couches can then bake and dry in the sun, and everyone wins.
Sidebar. We have had these couches since 2010. We got them when I was pregnant with Caleb after seeing them featured in a circular from American Signature Furniture. In our excitement over the cheap price ("THREE PIECES FOR $777!"), neither my husband nor I test-drove the couches when they were in the store, so we never realized the cushions weren't removable. Can you believe that? Non-removable cushions? When future generations are oogling over the concept of faux-wood blinds, I hope they forget about the abomination that is "non-removable cushions." Eek.
Now, back to cleaning the cushions: Back when the couch was new, I was terrified of my water breaking, but when I saw the filth that came off that couch yesterday, I realized amniotic fluid would have been a blessing. The rinse water was black. Blacker than black. As in, "Hey, what's blacker than black?" Answer: "That." I immediately wanted to call up everyone who has sat on that couch in the past year and apologize.
Now the couches are in my office, and all seems right with the world --- except the lanai. It's too empty. I'm thinking about making some pallet benches. Anyone in?
Till next time,