Recently I went to the wallpaper store in the town where I live (because I love wallpaper and I’ve never had a wallpapered room of my own and now I’m determined to have one or two and there is something about being in a wallpapered room that is enchanting and wonderful, and I almost always remember it afterward for a long, long time. I imagine, wrongly I’m sure, that life in wallpapered rooms is somehow different than life in other kinds of rooms—that it is richer and more thoughtful and so on…).
The wallpaper store that I went to is old and dusty and rather dreary. It felt like I was in a forgotten place. There was only one other customer and the woman in charge did not seem as if she really wanted to sell any of her paper. She kept telling both of us that it was no use giving us samples if she didn’t have enough rolls in stock. And her stock was a bit outdated or leftover or something…but finally she agreed to give me samples of three patterns that I liked and the name of a man who could hang it for me (even though she said she was not supposed to give me that).
You might think that my feelings about wallpaper have changed since then, but they have not.
ps. here is another wallpaper lady that I’d love to meet