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Creamy Berber is no match for canines
By Edie Gross
SEVERAL YEARS ago, my husband and I took a look at the carpet in our house and decided it had to go.
It was worn out, stained and in desperate need of replacement.
What we really wanted to do was rip it all out and put down wood flooring.
But paying for wood floors would've meant going without food, water and electricity for several years, and we just weren't that committed.
So we started carpet-shopping. We live with kids and dogs, which meant the only suitable carpeting would've been a super-absorbent, stain-resistant black shag.
But it didn't match the drapes, so we settled on a creamy Berber, which, now that I think about it, sounds like something they'd serve at the Coronary Stent Testing Grounds cafeteria.
Test Engineer 1: OK, folks, thanks to our brilliant structural engineering team, Stent 6.0 has successfully withstood the artery-clogging effects of triple-bacon cheeseburgers, Southern fried buttercream frosting and even Paula Deen's famous sausage gravy cheesecake, all consumed with gusto by our test subjects. What's next?
Test Engineer 2: What's next is the ultimate feat of stent strength: corn dog-mayonnaise casserole served with a side of fried onions and a dish of homemade creamy Berber for dipping.
Test Engineer 1: My lord, man! Creamy Berber? Do you think we're ready for that?
Test Engineer 2: There's only one way to find out.
Test Engineer 1, taking a deep breath for dramatic effect: Do it.
In any case, we were thrilled with the carpet.
Why on earth we thought it would stay that way is beyond me.
We did what we could. We made the kids take off their shoes when they entered the house, and any minor carrying food or drink into a carpeted area faced a misdemeanor possession charge punishable by a lecture and up to six months in his or her room.
The dogs, however, looked on the creamy Berber as their own personal canvas.