When I'm styling and photographing furniture I've painted, I sometimes create a story. It makes things just a bit more interesting for me and the people who check out my website [because let's be real, I may find all of this fascinating, but not everyone does!]. I purchased this particular buffet from an estate sale in a nearby neighborhood, and it was in the home's formal dining room, where one would expect a buffet to be found. Jump forward to the setting it's found in now, here's my little story:
She was sure he wouldn't remember. That bumbling, if slightly devilish smirk he'd pull when realizing he was supposed to be somewhere or do something for her, but in true form had forgotten. Standard and predictable he was. She hated herself for loving that cheeky grin, but it worked every time. Work is fast and constant and unyielding for both of them, so it's a wonder they're ever in the same place. 'It's not even a real anniversary, is it?' She thought as she fussed into the same dress she always wore to parties. Slightly more snug than it once was, but he never seemed to mind, so she didn't either.
'Why is everything always so dusty?' He yelled, frustratedly to the cat. The cat didn't reply, rather just shoved herself into his shoe. 'My thoughts exactly' he laughed. They were hardly ever home to use the vintage dishes she had painstakingly collected over the years. As he buffed each piece with a rag, he thought about how funny it was. She loved everything old and dusty far more than the bright, shiny new bits he could pick up at the store. But it was her, and every inch of the place was a part of her, save for the few Americana odds and ends, and the massive and mostly unusable record collection. The unforgiving Atlanta heat from two summers ago warped nearly every vinyl he owned. They referred to it as 'the day the music died.'
She had to allow him the flag and the occasional wartime memorabilia. He was so good about her collections and slight hoarding habits [though always immaculately curated and arranged], it was only fair she allow him some of his own. As she walked to her car, still fidgeting in her dress, she immediately dreaded her decision to wear heels [as she always does]. She wanted to look good for him. He hadn't been home in weeks and was just getting back from opening for a headliner he adored. 'I still don't get the whole bromance thing...it's not like I have lady crushes on my friends or co-workers, weirdo' she texted him once after he posted a stupidly adorable selfie of him and his man-crush, a former lead singer from a band they both listened to in high school. He now did acoustic sets at small venues, mostly in the southeast. He merely responded with, 'Jennifer Lawrence, BOOM.' He was right, dammit. If only her and Jen could be best friends, sigh.
He set up the buffet just as she would've liked: two of everything, placed in a pleasantly arranged way. He dusted off the nearly empty bottle of scotch, now five years old. Not the most expensive bottle they owned [they were both really bourbon drinkers anyway], but certainly the most valuable. They once sat in chairs, flanking a table where the music was docked and the 'fancy' liquors were lined up. Late in the night, everyone else was drunk or dancing or both. He watched her as she decidedly commandeered the DJ duties, carefully choosing each song, all favorites of his. Not knowing how to broach the subject, or even talk to her, he stood up, walked to the table, grabbed the bottle of Grouse and took a swig.
She quietly gave him side glances the entire time, but had no idea how to talk to him. Her natural modus operandi when seeing a guy she liked was to position herself in the same vicinity as him, but never actually speak to him, unless they approached her. Right out of a Jane Austen novel she was. Her antiquated, if slightly middle school wallflower methods didn't work, hence why she almost always dated guys she didn't like all that much. She looked up as he awkwardly stood there with the bottle of scotch, and shoved it towards her, mumbling something about Scotland. 'What?' she shouted over the music.
'THEY'RE FROM SCOTLAND!' he yelled at her. Immediately embarrassed, as she'd turned down the music just in time to have his carefully prepared small talk announced to the entire party. All eyes darted at him and only crickets and the faint sound of Franz Ferdinand could be heard. After she promptly returned the music to its normal, party appropriately loud decibel, he pulled his chair next to hers. 'You have good taste in music.'
'You have decent taste in scotch, but I don't recommend drinking it from the bottle' she said in her smug, sarcastic tone. She grabbed a pair of wine glasses [why they were beside all the liquor bottles she still doesn't understand], and gestured to have him pour them both some. After two more pours, she stashed the bottle in her purse. 'For next time' she added as they left the party. That walk home would be the first of many.
Everything was in place. 'She's definitely going to instagram this' he mused to himself. He ran to the bathroom to fix his hair [he was always fussing with his hair], when the door to the apartment opened.
She walked in, saw the entire set up in front of her, and couldn't help but grin. He remembered. As he ran in to greet her, she grabbed the bottle and shoved it at him.