Mom and Dad bought me a set of barrister bookshelves for my birthday. They arrived last week, but I only managed to bribe Chef Boy into helping me haul five bulky boxes up the stairs today.
Barrister bookshelves are those nifty things that come in sections, with glass fronts that lift up and slide out of the way. These are a walnut finish, a dark glossy brown, with small brass knobs on the front of each to help you lift-and-slide. They stand just over five feet high, all put together, and sneer at the rest of the furniture in the bedroom with undisguised snootyness.
So I set them up (releasing, in the process, approximately forty metric tonnes of packing material; Dad warned me) and put the books from the shelf they're replacing into them.
Into, that is, one and one-third shelves of them. Maybe one and a quarter shelves.
So, naturally, the solution is to buy more books.
It did occur to me, briefly, to simply move the books from the shelves in the living room into the new shelves. But what good would that do? I'd be left with another set of empty bookshelves (these built by my grandfather) and would *still* have to find something to fill them.
Meanwhile, the desk I use is looking shabbier and shabbier every second. It's one of those Target specials that's meant to look like Mission, except it comes in a big flat box and never quite goes together correctly. Every time I type, there's a subtle oscillation because the nuts and bolts *almost* work.
So, naturally, I'll have to look for a new desk. An antique one, I think, maybe even a rolltop. (Wouldn't *that* be schwank.)
And, now that I think about it, the filing cabinet that sits next to the desk has never been entirely satisfactory either. It's good to hold the printer, but it's another Target buy, from a flat box, with pre-drilled screwholes that didn't quite go in on center.
Or maybe I'll build a desk. They rarely make 'em as small as I need 'em, and I'm not a bad rough carpenter. Chef Boy has a shopful of woodworking equipment and the skill necessary not to remove digits while dremmelling, or whatever you call it.
Anyway, it won't be an ordinary desk. Nor will it be an ordinary filing cabinet that replaces this one. The bookshelves will see to that; they're gazing in disgust at the horror of the ordinary that is my furniture.