The other day I was talking to a co-worker about the new flooring that’s scheduled to be installed in my previous office. I don’t much care what kind of flooring is installed, since I don’t get to move back in once the work is complete. I never should have called maintenance about that water leak!
My co-worker said that her family had hardwood flooring throughout the house when she was growing up. I told her my mother insisted on wall-to-wall carpeting. My co-worker didn’t think that was unusual.
What I didn’t tell her was that when I say “wall-to-wall”, I mean “wall-to-wall”. All the walls to all the walls, no matter the room. We had carpet on the concrete floor in the basement, on the front porch, in both bathrooms AND in the kitchen.
I remember the kitchen carpet well. It was golden yellow with a dark brown diamond pattern overlay. If you spilled Hershey’s syrup on to the floor in between the fridge and the counter, you prayed it would land on one of the brown diamond outlines.
My father used our very own rug shampooing machine to scrub the kitchen carpet clean once per month. And I have to admit that the floor was very warm in the winter on non-slippered feet.
The basement carpet was another story altogether. It was of the “indoor-outdoor” variety and I don’t think there was any kind of padding between it and the concrete floor. Like dark-green Astroturf, it lay uninvitingly at the bottom of the stairs. That carpet regularly wore holes in the seat and knees of my flame-retardant polyester pajamas as I sat in front of the console TV set.
Of all the rooms, the bathroom was the best. Done up in plush blue deep-pile, somewhere beyond velvet but before shag, that carpet was like stepping on to a warm cloud as you exited the shower. I found out later I was supposed to be stepping out of the shower on to the blue throw rug placed there for that very purpose. Who knew? I thought it was for decoration, like that blue toilet tank cover and those other two throw rugs in the room.