Finished with the dining-room floor, we start looking for area rugs. I don’t anticipate any problems. We go to a carpet place and are helped by a lady with so many questions: What color are you looking for? What shape do you want? What size do you need? Do you want the chair to be on or off the rug when pulled out? Questions, questions, questions; all she had were questions. Once we answered her questions we looked at rugs.

She showed oriental rugs. I don’t like oriental. She showed rugs with a western theme. The closest I ever got to western was John Wayne. Finally, I found what I thought was the perfect rug. My husband, eager to get out of there agreed when I told him, “This is the perfect rug.” We were allowed to bring the rug home, because as the sales lady said, “It’ll look different in your house.” I paid her no mind because I believed this rug would look perfect in my house.

When we got home and put the rug on the dining-room floor, I realized I was wrong. It was not the perfect rug. In fact, it was awful. Now we had a problem.

The next day we take the rug back and move on to store number two. This time a man works with us and when he ask the questions: how long do you need it to be, and how long would you like it to be, I felt like he had bedroom issues with his wife. We look at hundreds of samples and I finally pick out two candidates. Again, we are allowed to bring them home even though I’m convinced this time I have found the perfect rug. We place them in the dining-room and one by one I eliminate both of them. Damn! Things aren’t going as planned.  My husband thinks the rug is perfect as it’s big enough to roll up a person, who’s 5 foot, 2 inches. I ignore his pleas for me to lie down on it so he can show me just how perfect it is and do some research to obtain a list of stores.

Join me tomorrow as we return the samples and continue our search for the perfect rug.

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