Our First Place.

Everyone is waiting for you to get married.  Your married friends are waiting for you to get married so they have someone to double date with and have a social life again.  Your single friends are waiting for you to get married so they can hook up with someone at your wedding.  Your family is waiting for you to get married so they can give you all of their old crap.

You see, when your parents and grandparents first got married, they bought themselves some nice furniture.  A couch and loveseat set.  A mahogany coffee table.  A stand for the TV. 

As time went on, your family grew restless and wanted to update their furniture.  Heck, they're older now, they've worked hard for the past twenty years, it's about time they bought themselves a new armoire.  But they couldn't dare part with their old furniture, whether it be because of the memories attached or the fact that "Well the table still stands, doesn't it?"

So they carry their treasures to the attic or basement and set them away for another time.  They glance over at you, three years old, playing on the floor with your blocks.  "They will appreciate this one day!" they say.

You grow up, get a job, and want to get hitched.  Time has flown by for your family; wasn't it just yesterday that they moved that table to the basement?  So while you're planning the layout of your first place, your family is dusting off their furniture for you.

"Here is this side table that's been sitting in your dad's room for the past 30 years," says your grandma.

"Here is this desk," says your mom.  "It's a perfectly fine desk; we just wanted a new one."

"Anything you want you can take."

And as they say this your visions of bedroom sets and matching couches start to fade into the present practicality of the situation.  You're spending all of your savings on a wedding and this furniture is free.  And despite the fact that you didn't want a round dining room table, you pack it up in your car and take it home because you'd be an idiot not to. 

And as you unpack your goods in your new place--the chairs from your grandmother, the decorative umbrella from your aunt, that blender from his uncle--you wonder if you've lost your voice and independence over your new life.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.  "It's looking good," he says. 

"It's not done yet," you smile. "We need some bedroom furniture."  It seems to be the one thing that nobody ever offers you--the bed they sleep in.

"Well why don't we take a break from unpacking and go look around?"

So you jump in the car and start looking at bedroom sets and as you look at the price tags you think, Thank God for the people who were waiting for us to get married.