When I was a girl the most important things were dealt with at the dining room table. This is where my mom and I met up each morning before dawn to have breakfast together and talk about the previous day. Mom often worked several part time jobs at any given time to make ends meet, and we didn't get much time together. The table was where I learned to sew and crochet; we put puzzles together at the table and played board games. I did my homework at the table, took my lectures at the table, and whenever I had to explain my bad behaviour to Mom, I sat at the table to do it.
A dining room table symbolizes adult-hood to me. I still do my homework at the table, and when I have something really important to talk about I still feel the need to sit at the table with a cup of coffee while talking about it.
The Husband and I don't agree on dining room tables, and he doesn't put the same level importance on them as I do. We've had several hand-me-down tables over the years, none of which I have been completely pleased with. The table he used when he was single was a small card table with folding metal chairs. I hated that table. The table after that was a fine table, from the 60s with a dark blue top but it had no chairs so we continued to use the metal folding chairs. Those chairs make me feel so temporary. The most recent table was glass-topped with matching chairs, but the chairs were not very well built and have been systematically breaking. The third of four chairs broke yesterday, and I was distraught. I persuaded The Husband to agree to a new table, which now lives right in my dining room. It is a wonderful table, with four perfectly matching chairs. I got up early this morning just so I could sit at my table with a cup of tea.
Since getting this table, I've also been more inclined to cook. If The Husband had known that the way to get me to cook was to buy me furniture, he would have done it long ago.