It all started with a fateful trip to Ethan Allen.
I should clarify that I was not furniture shopping at Ethan Allen. This is NOT like the very first time that I ever met Kellan’s sister Keri for coffee at the Mad Hatter cafe, and I walked in sheepishly holding a bottle of Figi water. To my great chagrin, Kellan had INSISTED on buying it for me earlier in the day even though everybody knows that nothing makes you look like you think you’re Madonna faster than a bottle of Figi water. I wish I could tell you that I didn’t spend ten minutes in a fluster attempting to explain the whole I-didn’t-want-this-Figi-water-I’m-really-not-a-diva situation to Keri…but sadly, that would be a lie.
It was love at first sip. Keri and I have been like peas and carrots ever since.
But no, that day at Ethan Allen was actually an accident. After weeks of eating dinner on the kitchen floor and sharing our ONE black hand-me-down recliner [bohemian and romantic? Yes. Squished? Also yes.] Kellan and I began hunting for furniture at every super-sized furniture warehouse and Walmart in Albany. One weary, gray afternoon as Fancy and I puttered down the road, I spotted an Ethan Allen design center out of the corner of my eye. Recognizing the name and armed with no other information whatsoever, I pulled into the parking lot, waltzed in the front door and immediately realized that there were a myriad of fantastic bargains to be had as long as you didn’t consider the US dollar to be an actual measure of currency.
But y’all. It was all just so breathtakingly beautiful and homey that I was absolutely compelled to wander the store. Just to see. Just to daydream a little bit about maybe-one-day.
And that’s when I spotted it.
A little black desk tucked away in a corner underneath an oversized window. Simple, dainty and elegant, it had antique looking legs and a little drawer that looked suspiciously like it might just be the perfect size for stowing my laptop. Never had I ever fallen in love with a piece of furniture before, but I knew without hesitation or reservation that this was the real thing.
Hello little black desk. Let’s run away together. And get married. And have kids and drive them to soccer practice.
I could see my little black desk and I living happily ever after, spending hours together writing the next great American Novel while Kellan spent his new found free hours training for a triathalon and falling asleep to the soothing lull of ESPN. How could I say no to something that would CLEARLY dramatically improve the quality of my marriage!? How grossly irresponsible would that be!?
…alas, reason dictated that there were more pressing purchases to be made—and my torrid affair with the little black desk ended before it began in favor of a stable and committed relationship with a very sensible cream colored couch at a store across town. All too soon, my little black desk and I were forced to bid each other a tearful goodbye. Still, I couldn’t shake the idea of it when I got home.
And out of the idea of it, friends, is where the new name for this blog was born. While the desk that I use to write happens to be Kellan’s ancient put-it-together-yourself contraption from the Walmarts and thus looks approximately nothing like the desk of my dreams, I do write my stories from a little black desk. And while I love the stacks of blogs floating around about the latest trends or how to make your hair look like Jennifer Aniston’s [and don’t let my hair deceive you: I read and enjoy those blogs!], mine is nothing like that. Here, you’ll just find stories. Stories from My Little Black Desk.