About
Copyright © 2010 Andrea Langworthy
Any copying, redistribution or retransmission
of any of the contents of this service without
the express written consent of Andrea Langworthy
is expressly prohibited
When the UPS driver set the package inside the door, I had a hard time remembering what I’d ordered. Later, I asked my husband to check it out. “Tiny squares of carpet,” he said. Oh, no.
Last spring, I bought new interior rugs for the front door and the one leading to the garage. A friend was coming for a week-long visit and the old mats were ratty. I’d searched a long time to find two that said, “Nice house.” Gold, deep red and green Jacobean-patterned, these would surely do the trick. My friend cancelled her trip but I was still happy to have such elegant rugs. Especially, since they were from a home improvement chain store and hadn’t been pricey.
Right after Thanksgiving, three weeks before we were to host a neighborhood party, I noticed the great room carpet had some dark streaks. Then, red squiggly lines started to appear and multiply alongside the dining room table. Thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me or my glasses had picked up reflections from a light fixture, I also worried I might be going crazy. A carpet cleaning technician (who didn’t dispute the crazy theory) and I determined that once we had snow outside, the vibrant colors from the new rugs bled and transferred to the bottoms of wet shoes — and the socks of those kind enough to remove their shoes — and were then smeared through the rooms. Which explains why there were fewer marks the farther you got from the doors. Try as he might, the carpet cleaner could only lighten the stains a bit. The owner of the company came out to give it another try. No luck. We bought boring beige rugs to put in front of the doors, threw out the offenders, and dimmed the lights for the party. Our guests pretended they didn’t notice.
We made it through the holidays but now, the days are longer and the late afternoon sun shines on the floor, highlighting the dozens of stains. By summer, the floor covering will look like a Jackson Pollard print. I got moving on Operation Carpet. One store offered to send samples of Fresia which we have throughout the house and I hope to match. I didn’t ask for an estimate. Money for carpet seems like a waste. Fancy kitchen countertops or shiny new stainless appliances would make a statement. But carpet? And beige carpet at that?
My husband pulled the package from the closet last week and we set a dozen or so pieces on my desk. Who knew there were that many variations of tan? Beige with a hint of grey. Pinky-beige. Burnished beige. Tan with a yellow cast. Tawny taupe. Light latte. Pale caramel. Hints of green. “Where should I put the others?” my husband asked as he looked around the room. I shrugged my shoulders in defeat, scooped up the samples, and dumped them back in the box.
“Call me crazy,” I said. “For now, let’s just close the window blinds and hand out dark glasses to anyone who comes to the door. This is bigger than both of us.”