An unfinished oak table, which SH and I painstakingly finished, back when we were a young, fresh-faced cohabitating couple, served our family well as I served up scrumptious fare each night, while the kids were in their formative years. Any mention of the table's use as a backpack depository, or craft table, is purely the runaway imagination of my now grown offspring, who attempt modesty when discussing their completely perfect childhoods.
In hopes of convincing SH that forever altering the table was a grand idea, I removed the old coffee table, replacing it with only the tabletop. With no place to use his laptop, SH had no choice but to do as I wanted.
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