We showed the apartment to several different prospective tenants last week, and more than one asked if "the junk in the hallway" was going to be removed when we moved out.
In my opinion, nothing says "Welcome to our home" better than a precariously stacked pile of ugly chairs.
The good news is, I know exactly where I want each of those ugly chairs to be used and what it will look like after we spend some quality time getting to know each other better.
Disclaimer: This may only be The Plan for the next 3 minutes and 48 seconds, so read fast.
I picture these (that are currently the most heinous shade of burnt orange) with a coat of silvery paint and some fun fabric for our desk chairs:
And these with a glossy black lacquer finish around the dining room table:
And this one, for the den, gets new fabric and a paint job:
Speaking of the den, there's an ongoing dispute between my mom and I about the name of said room. She insists that "den" is much too modern for our 1897 home, opting instead for "parlor." So, we've compromised on "darlor." Or "pen," though that brings with it connotations of livestock and manure.
Anyway, that's my story about my romance with chairs. It's sort of like Romeo & Juliet, except there are no daggers or tunics or hare-brained schemes about pretending to be dead. Which pretty much makes my love affair a whole lot better than that of the star-crossed teenagers of yore. (Psst...guess what my next English 9 unit is?) ;)