It’s happened.
The first stain on one of our new furniture pieces.*
* In our brand new home, we are now living with pretty, lighter rugs and fabrics whereas before we had pretty, pre-strained things that had come from my parents’ home in Texas.
I have been dreading the first spill. Trying to embrace that the day will come.
It was today.
It was made by me. I was sitting at my new desk. I had carelessly left a ballpoint pen with the wicked stylus protruding. My forearm sent it flying, and it fell. My heart fell with it, and I knew before I looked what I would find: a small black ink mark on the new purple office chair seat.
I found ink mark stain removal guidance on line, but we all know how perilous that can be. (The kinds of products and things they assume you have laying around is astonishing.)
I madly read through different ideas, then made a daring attempt involving hairspray, q-tips and mild dish soap.
At first, it looked like I’d not only not gotten the ink out, but I’d created a much bigger stain than the black dot of ink.
“That is what you get,” I thought, “for thinking things could be perfect.”
Somehow, (blessedly), my cleaning attempts have worked in the end. Thank you Perseus.
For today, I can continue the illusion that all will stay pristine forever.
(I know, I know. It is only a matter of time.)
In the meanwhile… I shall tempt the gods as I wait.
Life On The Skinny Branches 