Today’s brilliant idea: Bemz

There’s an area of my apartment that has been a sort of dead zone, and I’ve been pondering what to do about that. Craigslist and eBay, to the rescue!

Currently occupied by a hand-me-down round antique table covered by photographs, a Persian rug, an Ikea Tullsta chair and a beautiful but magic-markered slipper chair, the bay in the front of my living room just isn’t a very inviting space.

The slipper chair is a funny story.

When we lived in the ghetto, rat infested house from Hell, we were lucky to have friends who lived around the corner–in  a much nicer, upscale sort of home. One day, Laura called me up, absolutely furious. “Do you want a chair?” In their beautiful, perfectly renovated home, once upon a time, sat two slipper chairs, tastefully upholstered in a subtle, moss green striped Duoponi silk. And Upon one of those Beautiful Slipper Chairs, a Son had Descended with Magic Marker and lo, the slipper chair was hateful to the mother’s sight. “I’ll have my husband walk it over to you in ten minutes.” I suppose she realized she had but one choice: either give away the chair, or give away the son.

We’ve lived with the lovely chair for over a year, now, and we just didn’t look at the magic marker that marred its surface. On a whim a few weeks ago, I sent my friend an e-mail. “Let me know if you want that chair back, if you’re not still mad at it. I figured you might be over it by now…” Because you know, it’s not the chair’s fault. She wrote back within minutes.

“Funny you should say that, we had the other one reupholstered and it looks GREAT!” So some day, the slipper chair will be returned and resurrected, and I’ll be minus a seating arrangement.  My brain began to turn. I took the Ikea Tullsta chair out of my kid’s room–I mean, come on. Who was I kidding? Visions of cozy afternoons, curled up in the chair with my favorite sondog curled on my lap, idyllically reading Wind in the Willows? Yeah. That would never happen. He used the chair as a launching pad for every boy-crazed imaginary adventure he pursued in his room, and I haven’t had a minutes’ peace in nearly six years.

But come on. It’s Ikea. Everyone and their uncle owns a Tullsta chair. In fact, I’d picked this one for cheap on Craigslist. Today, I started idly searching for chairs, again. I’d had it in my mind I’d find some beautiful matched set someone was getting rid of, and they’d be mine, all mine. Nope. Way back on December 27th, someone around the corner from us had advertised a blue Tullsta. It was still there.

(damn, I’m taking a long time getting to the point, aren’t I? Hang on, I’m getting there…)

This evening, I’m the dubious owner of a black Tullsta and a blue Tullsta, and disgusted by the options afforded me by Ikea’s slipcovers. Lightbulb. I’ll see if I can get a cheaper one on eBay.

Wandering the Net, I finally stumble upon Bemz, a Swedish company that specializes in making–you guessed it–custom slip covers for Ikea furniture. This rocks. I was thinking about making slip covers myself, but again with the kidding? I don’t have time to make dinner for me and the Kid, let alone launch a rehab project. Some day, I’ll own two beautiful chairs for my living room. Today, I’m leaning towards a pair of something along these lines:

or

or maybe

Sigh. I just can’t decide. What does go with eclecto-handmedown-urban-single-mother chic?