White Carpet

Time for a new direction. Expect silly, opinionated, rants, raves and just plain offbeat. I begin with "White Carpet."



The door chime sings instead of rings. Etched glass swings open to reveal an entry blazing in light. Yards of pristine white carpet blind as a photographers flash. I look down. The hostess is barefoot. A formal line of designer footwear eyes the sexy, strapy sandals I spent twenty minutes carefully trying on.

White carpet. Why? I can understand a furry ochre rug enticing bare toes but the whole house whitewashed?

I have always viewed the white, beige, cream-decorating scheme as a cop out. I personally do not want to live in the clouds; I prefer the varied richness of earthen tones and bold color of a Caribbean port. I would never adjust my mode of living to preserve and protect plastic fibers.

What about pets? You can’t really have a black dog living on white carpet. Sure the contrast would be lovely but black and white, when mixed, make gray. I imagine a white pet would be the choice for our barefoot homeowner.

Perhaps white decor is a badge of sorts. If our hostess has children, I am hoping the white on white occurred in the teenage years. A shout of accomplishment stating, “Look! My home survived the sippy cup years and I am celebrating.” Lets just hope the celebration does not include a fine Merlot.

I begrudging slip my new sandals off. Our hostess places them in the chorus line next to a brilliant, smiling pair of red patents. I gaze into the main room. The guests are in bloom. Varied colors from sliced pear to pomegranate float on whipped cream. My wide leg pants puddle on the carpet without the finishing touch of those adorable sandals. I get the odd feeling; the room is now better dressed than the company it holds.

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