Oh, oh, oh. Something catches my eye. In the sea of lumpy, ugly sofas, she stood out: demure, refined, faded. There she was, in a thrift shop, abandoned by her former owner.
I can imagine the relatives, carting out Great Grandma’s sofa, the one she sat on only on Sundays, when they came to visit. No one else must have been allowed to sit on her. The kids might get their sticky, grubby hands on her icy blue crushed velvet.
Great Grandma must have loved that sofa, the one she bought in 1965, in the expensive furniture store, because it was in the very best condition that a 48-year old sofa could be.
A few nicks and dents scarred the wood, where pearl-wearing GG might have crossed her stilletto-clad heels against the base as she clutched her cocktail and laughed at Great Grandfather’s jokes. She must have religiously vacuumed the cushions with her new Electrolux and its upholstery attachment. Over the years, the sun faded and discolored the gorgeous velvet, but not one stain marred her pristine appearance.
Oh, Henredon! A toast to you, and your effortless, timeless style! Because when I found her, I knew right away she was quality, and when I lifted the seat cushion, there was the label. My heart leaped! A vintage Henredon sofa, in a thrift store!
I tried to convince myself to walk away from her. I didn’t need her. I even went home and tried to forget. But the next morning, I panicked and called the store. They said she was still there, had been there for 3 weeks. Of course, I went back. She was now mine:
I debated whether I should change her outfit, but my very stylish hair stylist insisted that she really wanted a new dress. And, I did want to keep her, because, well, how often does something like this come along? I mean, when your good friend suggests that you should name a child Henry because of your vintage Henredon obsession, you don’t pass such a treasure on, even for money.
It took several months to find the perfect fabric and the perfect upholsterer. I painted the base a semi-gloss white for a much more glamorous look because, after all, I am a furniture painter, and the base was dull brown wood. Now she is stunning. See for yourself!
She’s going in my “sitting room,” where no one but me will be allowed to sit on her, and only on Sundays. Mr. City Girl, would you please be a love and bring me a cocktail? Thanks so much!
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The Perfect Upholsterer: Ken Chambers, Suncoast Upholstery
I can say only amazing things about his skill. If you are even remotely near St. Petersburg, please call him.