I don’t have a dresser.
My clothes are in a stack of boxes, turned on their side, tops toward the bed. Big ones below, smaller ones above.
More than one person has offered a dresser, but I still don’t have one, for the same reason Terry and Virgie still don’t have kitchen chairs.
When we went to visit them in their new home in Phoenix, they still had their gorgeous table, but not the chairs. “I didn’t like them,” Terry said.
What they did have was the most horrible plastic folding chairs I’ve ever seen. “Cheapest I could by,” he said.
Sorta like cardboard boxes.
If I get a dresser that’s “good enough” while I search for just the right dresser, “just the right dresser” will become less important, less urgent because hey, the one I have is good enough, right?
Except, it won’t be.
In this case, “good enough” would mean solid workmanship, an Eastern flair, and a great price. Tacky cheap fiberboard only meets one of the criteria for “good enough” and I know it.
Fiddling with boxes every day reminds me to keep my eyes open for a dresser. Top of mind; apparently, I’m marketing my own needs to myself.
When Terry finds just the right chairs, he and Virgie will be sitting pretty. Until then, he’s not settling for a “good enough” that’s not.
Let’s all remember that “good enough” does not mean almost good enough.