Whither Carpet?

Carpet. What a weird invention. Now take rugs…rugs I understand. Anyone with hardwood floors and freezing weather can instantly see the value of a good area rug. But carpet? Come on…if ever there was an invention where the inventor deserved to burn in Hell for all time, it’s carpet. Allow me to explain…

Carpet is basically a wall-to-wall rug, right? I mean, if a rug covers up part of your floor, why not cover up all of your floor, huh? I’ll tell you why, bunkie. It’s because you can’t roll up a carpet and haul it out of the house to get all the dust, dirt, bugs, and other assorted crap out of it. THAT’S why.

I have allergies. Carpet is to allergies what a lit match is to tinder. Kicks ’em into high gear, that’s what. And did I mention that we have pets? Two, to be exact…a border collie (black & white) and a (black) cat. Our carpet it gray. That is, it SHOULD be gray, but the rocket scientist that decided to use this particular artificial fibre of choice failed to note that it treats pet hair like it’s very own Velcro® mate. Our carpet is in a perpetual state of dappled gray and black, despite our best efforts to restore it to it’s lackluster battleship gray state. Vacuum you say? HA! My carpet sneers at vacuums. It laughs at practically anything you can throw at it. Hoover. Electrolux. Oreck. You name it, it’s defeated it, with one textured foam padding tied behind it’s jute back The closest we’ve come to any success was with that "As Seen on TV" rubber rake. At least that is capable of moving the hair around. Picking it up is another matter entirely.

So…what to do? In a sudden burst of what now can only be described as temporary insanity, I pulled up the carpet in the living room. What did I find? Some very nice, but poorly cared-for hardwood floors. Did I mention that I love wood? I do. Worked with it since I was a lad of six, standing at my Pater’s knee. Adore the stuff. Perfect thing for floors. Don’t know why anybody’d want anything else, really. But I digress.

In a perfect world, I would have already gotten rid of all this wretched carpet. But alas, events and the demigods of home repairs have thwarted me. You see, SOME of the rooms have, shall we say, imperfect flooring under the carpet. Seems we have a basement, rare in these parts. Did I mention the only access to said basement is through a trap door in the hall? Seems a former owner decided that stairs were no longer au courant enough in bedroom #3, and thusly removed them. Of course, they didn’t bother to patch the flooring with similar hardwoods. Noooooooo. They simply covered it up with 3/4" plywood and carpeted over the sucker. Now, in order to get rid of the vile carpet, I’ll have to replace AND patch flooring. Sigh…

I’m sure that somewhere, someplace, there is a use for carpet that doesn’t border on the cruel and unusual. I seem to be haunted by the beastly stuff, and I haven’t the least idea why. My first house had it. I ripped it up. My second house had it – in parts of it. I learned to tolerate it. Every place I’ve lived since, has had carpet of one kind or another. I suspect that the carpet enjoys some primitive form of intelligence. Perhaps telepathy. Or maybe imprinting. At any rate, I think the carpet knows I’m here. And it’s not happy. I feel, somehow, it must have plans for me. Plans that involve some sort of torture by static electrical charge, perhaps. But at least I am not yet consigned to the 7th ring of Monsanto Hell. Nobody’s tried to foist WHITE carpet on me. Yet. I fear, though, it is only a matter of time.