Furniture is a commitment

We bought a roomful this afternoon, with much debate. Poor Sam. He has such a sense of doom, of "let's get it right, or the sky will fall." And the underlying rules are fuzzy. I go by instinct. Does the color make me feel good, or does it make my stomach roll? Will the carpet make my feet want to dance? My color emotions are strong. And since I never prefer Italian food over Mexican, care where we spend the holidays or what we name the children, my preferences come as quite a shock to Sam. Poor, poor Sam.

And since most of what we have has been scraped together and hoarded carefully, this is scary. But then, so is the new house!