Richard: What we have here is a failure to communicate. And by “communicate”, I mean “use condoms”. Because if Mr. X and his fertile kin had bothered to use a little protection, Mr. X wouldn’t be burdened with so many Olan Mills family portraits, and he would probably have better a better bedroom set, too.

As it is, the only decent piece (of furniture) Mr. X owns is that dresser, which is (a) overwhelming that Astoria one-bedroom and (b) covered in veneer, which is one of my least favorite things to be covered in. The dresser, in turn, is overwhelmed by all those 8×10s of cousins and nephews and sisters and other relatives he sees once a year at Christmas. The bar stool — which stands where there was once a normal corner-table, until Mr. X loaned it to his brother, Manny, neither of which will ever be seen again — is overwhelmed by the TV. And the floor sconce is overwhelmed by everything in the goddamn room, but then, you can’t really expect anything from Walmart to make a dramatic statement. (As proof: the bland, mismatched Walmart bedspread, duvet, and pillowcase, all of which are trying to slink back toward a Natalie Merchant album cover.)

It’s curious that all that overwhelming adds up to an underwhelming effect, but then, I suppose there are bigger mysteries in the universe. Natalie Merchant included.

File Under:Bathroom Abominations

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File Under:Bathroom Abominations