I don’t want you to think based on yesterday’s post that I’m getting too fanciful, too big for my breeches, what with all the GENTEEL, FADED GLORY of my apartment. No, I know my place! And here is a triptych to balance out yesterday’s: I give you the cornucopia of linoleum. Not just any linoleum, either, some very special linoleum. A lot of scorn is heaped upon linoleum; home-shoppers on HGTV bemoan its presence in potential homes and put it, along with laminate, on top of the got to go list. If they have the wherewithal to take on such relatively minor, cosmetic changes to begin with, because many don’t, because they are babies.
Anyway. I don’t really care one way or the other. I think the linoleum in my apartment, though, is so ugly it should be celebrated.
The floor on the far left is in the spare bedroom. I actually almost legitimately like it. I mean, pebbles are sweet, right? You can pretend you’re on a dry river bottom. Yeah, that’s the ticket. The middle floor is in my kitchen. When I saw the apartment for the first time, I was immediately struck with the thought “This kitchen is sort of insane” and then a split second later, “I have to have it.” Like if I didn’t stick up for this misguided floor, no one would. The far right floor might be the most special of all. I thought it was just some weird abstract pattern until my mom saw it for the first time and pointed out that it was actually supposed to look like carpet.
Linoleum as carpet? Makes perfect sense. All of the look, none of the tactile comfort and warmth.
(Can you tell I haven’t wanted to go outside lately? When I was out yesterday, the wind was blowing so cold it made my eyeballs hurt.)