The last time my old college friend came to visit me, I mentioned future plans to purchase a coat tree.
He said, "Oh no Bill! Don't buy one of those! You'll regret it." Then he prattled on with this logical explanation:
At first it will be cool. A real life savor. You'll marvel at its simplicity and wonder how you ever got by without one. Ahh...ha...Now you have that place to put all your coats, rather, than draping them chaotic over the sofa and chairs bachelor like. And visitors will marvel too, impressed by your tidiness. But as the seasons begin to change and coats are less of a necessity, other items will begin to crop up around there.
The cat will like it too. She'll crawl up there and use it as a sleeping roost or as a spring board to launch herself over to the bookcase where the fish tank sets. You'll come home from work and the house will be a chaotic mess.
Soon the coat tree will sprout up in other places in the apartment and will settle into a place more convenient to hang wet bath towels upon. Once the towels are comfortably hanging themselves, your wife will get the bright idea to dry other things of a more personal nature (wink...wink...if you know what I mean) there.
Next you will see all of Victoria's Secrets hanging about in sizes never modeled in that catalog you keep stashed away with all those other things your wife doesn't know you still possess.
Then comes the fright. Yes, your coat tree will actually scare you when the seasons change yet again and the moon starts to beam brightly through the windows. All those wet hosiery, strappy silky stuff, and Spandex corsets, and bondage gear will cast sinister shadows on the floor, walls, and ceiling when you rise from a drunken slumber to take a leak.
Finally, it will fall into ill repute, because Sam's Brand coat trees cannot handle all the additional stress.
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