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| A small taste of some of my favorites. See, they match in their own way. |
Somewhere in Heaven, my Aunt is laughing and shaking her head and my former mother-in-law is raising a brow and blowing out a breath so she don't say nothing rude... at least that's what I imagine their reactions would be if they could come over for supper and see my table when it is set. They were 2 wonderful women who I miss dearly and who would always had beautifully decorated homes, matching dishes included. Your girl here... well... not so much. But not for lack of trying, dreamers and nibblers. For 21 glorious years, I, your humble narrator, waged a valiant, albeit ultimately futile, war against the tyranny of matching dinnerware. Armed with good intentions and a hefty dose of optimism, I embarked on countless quests to acquire the elusive "perfect set": pristine white plates, delicate cups, and gleaming silverware, all marching in perfect, harmonious unison across my dining table.
The initial victories were sweet. Visions of elegant dinner parties, where guests would whisper admiringly over my perfectly coordinated table setting, danced in my head. But alas, the enemy was cunning, relentless, and armed with tiny hands and a penchant for dropping things.
Children, bless their innocent hearts, are natural-born chaos agents. Plates shattered with the force of a toddler temper tantrum. Forks mysteriously vanished into the abyss between the couch cushions. Spoons, those delicate souls, met their demise in the dishwasher, emerging bent and broken.
And so, the cycle continued. I would mourn the fallen, vowing to never again succumb to the siren song of matching sets. But then, lured by the promise of pristine perfection, I would fall prey once more.
The final straw came with the Great Plate Massacre of 2023. A particularly enthusiastic game of "catch the ball" resulted in a cascade of shattered porcelain, leaving me staring at a pile of debris and the chilling realization that this was a battle I could never truly win.
And then, liberation.
I surrendered. I embraced the chaos. I declared war on the tyranny of matching sets.
I began my pilgrimage to the hallowed halls of the thrift store, where I discovered a treasure trove of discarded treasures. A mismatched collection of plates, each with its own unique story, its own battle scars. A rainbow of mismatched cups, each one a testament to the individuality of its previous owner.
And the silverware? Oh, the silverware! A glorious mishmash of forks, spoons, and knives, all shapes and sizes, all clamoring for a place at the table.
Suddenly, mealtimes became an adventure. Each plate a surprise, each cup a unique experience. My children, bless their curious souls, delighted in pointing out the differences, the quirks, the imperfections. Well, most of them. My youngest nibbler still thinks it odd. He is a very old fashioned soul, and likes things to be just so. I fear my love for the strange and different horrifies him at times, but he is content with the situation as long as he can find how his given dishes have some kind of rhyme or reason.
And you know what? It's actually kind of wonderful.
No longer bound by the shackles of conformity, I can now indulge my whims, collecting pieces that speak to me, that tell a story. A vintage plate with a delicate floral pattern, a quirky mug with a whimsical design, a spoon with a curious twist.
My table, once a sterile canvas for perfectly matched pieces, has transformed into a vibrant tapestry, a reflection of my own eclectic personality. It's a testament to the beauty of imperfection, a celebration of the unique and the unexpected.
The best part of all this… I’m not spending hundreds every year or two to replace my broken sets. I have gone from spending $100-200 or more on dish sets (I always have to buy two sets, we are a household of 7 people total) to spending $10-30 for plates, cups, bowls, silverware, and maybe a few books from the back as well. New (used) books are always a win.
So, I say, let us rise up against the tyranny of matching sets! Let us embrace the chaos, the mismatched, the delightfully imperfect. Let us celebrate the individuality of each plate, each cup, each piece of silverware.
After all, life is too short to worry and stress over matching dishes.
P.S. If you happen to stumble upon a particularly charming vintage teacup, or a plate with an odd pattern, please consider sharing the joy and tagging me in a picture of it. I'm always on the lookout for new additions to my ever-growing collection of mismatched treasures and love to see all the wonderful patterns people stumble across.
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