Confessions of a Bombe Chest
Coleman Furniture It's not easy being me. Everyday, people constantly walk by me. I have had things thrown upon my surface, which led to scratches, dents and gouges. It is not easy being a bombe chest in a family home. Life begins simply for an bombe chest. I was hand-made in a small shop in India before being crated and sent to a furniture store in the United States. At the furniture I stood up in a corner of the warehouse, overlooked. I was considered "in storage". There were several other bombe chests around me, though, so the experience was not too bad. Sometimes we would exchange stories and wonder what life in a home would be like once someone bought us. Then a wonderful thing happened one day. I awoke out of my normally dark corner where I had been stored to find light brightly shining on me. I then realized that I had been taken out and put on the showfloor of the furniture store for display. Now I sat in the coveted showroom. This was usually the last stop that an bombe chest made before being bought. I considered myself to be extremely lucky. Soon, someone would spot the beautiful bombe chest against the wall and insist that they have it in their home. Things were certainly different in the showroom. No longer was I pushed up in a corner next to other bombe chests. My nightly chats with them had come to an end. The nearest bombe chest in the showroom was a morose fellow across the room. From my vantage point in the the showroom, I was able to see the comings and goings of the furniture store. Everytime a customer neared, I stood a bit straighter, and tried to think beautiful thoughts that hopefully would be conveyed to the customer. Then the day that changed my life happened. A young couple came into the furniture store. They were just married and needed a whole house-full of furniture, they told the salesperson. As they approached, I straightened myself as best I could as ususal and thought my beautiful thoughts, but the couple was looking at an upholstered sofa nearby, not at me. Suddenly, the young wife made a start. Her head popped up from the sofa, and she rushed over to me. "This is perfect! I've been looking for an bombe chest just like this! We have to get it!" And that was that. I was bought that same day. The wife was so enamored by me, that they took me home that very day, tied to the roof of their car. That was an experience I hope to never replicate, as the bungie cords cut into my legs and left light gouges on my corners. The couple, though, never noticed the damage. All my life, I had always been surrounded by other furniture, but for the first time of my life, I found myself on the floor of a then empty living room of the couple. They wanted to bring their bombe chest home first so that it would already be in place when the rest of the furniture arrived later. For two days, I stood against the wall, lavished by the attention of the young couple, but then the living room furniture was delivered. Before I knew it, the upholstered sofa the couple had considered, a recliner and a coffee table shared the room with me, and I felt the couple's attention divert toward the newly delivered furnishings. In the intervening years, the couple grew into a family, and the care that they took of me began to go downhill. After the baby was born, she played next to me in front of the sofa. I felt proud to be used as her prop that she would hold onto as she learned to stand and walk, and during her youth, we shared secret treasures that she stored in my drawers. I never told anyone about them, and if her mom came looking for contraband candy her daughter had gotten, I would make the drawer in which it had been hidden stick to all but the child. Through the years, though, it seemed that the child was the only one who really saw me. After a while, even the parents stopped giving me my weekly polish. I can only hope that they will remember me one day. The daughter always liked me, so perhaps when she moves into her own space, she will take me with her. If she does, I will have more time being a useful bombe chest before going into storage once again to finish out my days. About the Author
Representing Coleman Furniture, a refreshing oasis in hot, humid, hazy Houston, Texas. Coleman Furniture may be contacted at http://www.colemanfurniture.com. Click here to view more articles by Coleman Furniture. Reprinted with Permission from IdeaMarketers.com
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