I bought a new coffee table. Or rather, I thought I did. Online, it looked perfect: oak, minimal, Scandinavian in the way everything is now. But when it arrived, it was… smaller. Not too small, just small enough to make you question your own memory. Had I misread the dimensions? Was the ad misleading? Had I shrunk? Every morning now I drink my coffee at this slightly-too-small table, knees awkwardly tucked, laptop sliding off the edge like it wants to escape the day. And I’ve realized: this is the perfect metaphor for how everything feels lately. Not quite right, but fine enough to live with. The kind of thing you tell yourself you’ll replace, but never do. Anyway, the coffee still tastes the same. Good enough. Maybe that’s the whole point. |
The Shrinking Table
I bought a new coffee table. Or rather, I thought I did. Online, it looked perfect: oak, minimal, Scandinavian in the way everything is now. But when it arrived, it was… smaller. Not too small, just small enough to make you question your own memory. Had I misread the dimensions? Was the ad misleading? Had I shrunk? Every morning now I drink my coffee at this slightly-too-small table, knees awkwardly tucked, laptop sliding off the edge like it wants to escape the day. And I’ve realized: this is the perfect metaphor for how everything feels lately. Not quite right, but fine enough to live with. The kind of thing you tell yourself you’ll replace, but never do. Anyway, the coffee still tastes the same. Good enough. Maybe that’s the whole point. |