The Cultured Girl

I recently moved into a new apartment, complete with a guest room—something I typically associate with parents and other bona fide grown-ups. I cannot claim to be one of those. After all, I live with a roommate, not a husband; our dinner parties often include a pre-meal doob; and our guests are 20-something couch surfers who stay up until 3 a.m. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a serviceable guest room.

I got to thinking about some of my mother’s wisdom, which dictates that everyone should sleep in her own guest room at least once, to see how much it sucks and make improvements. (As the guest in many rooms over the years, I can safely say that most people do not do this.) The basic requirements of a good guest room, however, are timeless. Consider these essentials outlined in a funny little book I have from 1922, called A Thousand Ways to Please a Family, With Bettina’s Best Recipes. If a few modern cross-references are any indication, Bettina was on to something. Already I have many of the features of a dream guest room, including:

a well-lighted mirror (check)
a table and a reading lamp beside the bed (the lamp is on the floor, but it’s something)
a shelf of well-chosen books and magazines (check)
a big wastepaper basket (check)
a desk with paper and a really good pen (it’s not a Mont Blanc or anything but it writes)
one desk chair and one really comfortable chair (got that covered, given that our apartment has an excess of chairs)
a closet with plenty of free hangers (the guest room closet is actually my closet, but there are some free hangers in there)
Elvis flip book (ok, so Bettina didn’t mention this, but I have one, and I think it will provide hours of guest entertainment)
alarm clock

As for sleeping in the guest room, I guess I’ll get around to that, just as soon as I get my boxes unpacked.