I know I want many more things than I need. And I know that if I had a better paying job, I would be tempted to spend all the extra money and not even really notice that it had changed. But it's nice to dream. And of course, in the fantasy of newfound wealth, I'm shopping at Anthropologie.
I want this tablecloth that I couldn't possibly need, because no one on the planet needs a tablecloth (or wait, is there a situation where this is truly important?). It's circular, but so is the blue cotton one in a Provençale print that used to be Emma's mom, and so I'd place it, like I do that one, on the square dining table we keep crammed in the corner in our reasonably-sized, but poorly laid-out, kitchen. The ambience in there isn't perfect, but I would turn off the overhead lamp and set out a few candles—white tapers and votives, and then some beeswax ones as well to add some color. I'd put them in my cheap glass holders from Ikea, and the candlelight, along with the small lamp over the kitchen sink, would be perfect.
But instead, I'm putting extra money into savings for when one of my jobs, the most temporary position, ends. I'm saving for future cat veterinary expenses, I'm saving for when I have to refill my prescriptions (possibly one more time before January 1st, when I should have health insurance again), I'm paying my loans and then I'm buying new tights, and clothes for work, and decor that will make a bigger impact than an occasional tablecloth. Photo prints, rugs, new lamps. There's so many things we could add to the apartment, and it's really fun (for me, not Cooper). I wish I could do it all, but until then, I'm thinking about this tablecloth about two times a week. It's basically like I own it.