This Is Why I Can’t Have Nice Things

Exhibit A through Z: A Comprehensive Inventory of My Personal Chaos

My name is Lila Wren, and I have come to terms with a painful truth: nice things and I are simply not compatible. Below, presented in alphabetical order for dramatic effect (and because my therapist says structure helps), is the evidence.

Exhibit A: The Air Fryer

Purchased in a fit of “new year, new me” optimism. Used exactly once to make perfect sweet-potato fries. The second time, I forgot it was preheating, left the kitchen to answer a phone call, and returned to find the silicone liner had melted into a modern-art sculpture. The fries were charcoal. The air fryer now lives in the garage, silently judging me.

Exhibit B: The Beige Couch

Chosen specifically because it was “stain-resistant” and “family-friendly.” Within one week: red wine (mine), blueberry smoothie (neighbor’s kid), and permanent marker (mystery origin—possibly me, half-asleep, looking for a pen). It now wears a patchwork of throw blankets like a guilty conscience.

Exhibit C: The Ceramic Mug Collection

Handmade, artisanal, extremely breakable. I started with twelve. I currently own three handles and a lot of regret.

Exhibit D: The Designer Sunglasses

Bought on vacation to “treat myself.” Sat on them exactly four hours later while reaching for sunscreen. The lenses survived. The frames did not.

Exhibit E: The Expensive Sheets

800-thread-count Egyptian cotton. Felt like sleeping on a cloud. Felt even more like a crime scene after I spilled an entire glass of iced coffee while reading in bed. The stain is now abstract art titled “Regret in Beige.”

Exhibit F: The Fancy Candle

Scent: “Midnight Pomegranate & Cashmere.” Burned for ten minutes before I knocked it over reaching for the TV remote. Wax everywhere. Carpet still slightly pomegranate-scented in one corner.

Exhibit G: The Glass Coffee Table

Looked sleek and adult in the store. At home, it became a fingerprint museum and a constant reminder of my inability to own anything transparent without turning it into a smudge exhibit.

Exhibit H: The Houseplants

I named them. I talked to them. I killed them all anyway. RIP Fernando the Fiddle-Leaf Fig. You deserved better.

Exhibit I: The Immersion Blender

Intended for silky soups. Achieved: one spectacular tomato-sauce ceiling splatter that looked like a crime scene. The kitchen still has faint red freckles.

Exhibit J: The Journal (Leather-Bound, Beautiful)

Meant for profound thoughts. Actual contents: grocery lists, one angry rant about slow walkers, and a doodle of a cat wearing sunglasses.

Exhibit K: The KitchenAid Mixer

Dream appliance. Used once to make perfect cookies. Second use: forgot to lock the bowl. Flour cloud. I emerged looking like a ghost. The dog refused to come near me for hours.

Exhibit L: The Lace Dress

Worn once to a wedding. Caught on a chair, ripped irreparably while attempting to sit gracefully. Gracefully exited instead with a giant tear and a fake laugh.

Exhibit M: The Memory-Foam Pillow

Advertised as “luxurious neck support.” Became luxurious dog bed after I left it on the couch for five minutes.

Exhibit N: The Nice Throw Pillows

Decorative. Fluffy. Immediately claimed by the cat as permanent throne. Covered in fur. No longer nice.

Exhibit O: The Outdoor String Lights

Hung with care along the porch. Lasted one beautiful evening before I backed into them with the lawnmower. Now half the strand flickers like it’s sending Morse code for help.

Exhibit P: The Perfume (Expensive, French)

One perfect spritz too many. Overpowered an entire dinner party. Guests politely sneezed through dessert.

Exhibit Q: The Quilt (Handmade by Grandma)

Heirloom. Sacred. Spilled nail-polish remover on it while attempting at-home manicure. The stain is now “abstract.”

Exhibit R: The Robot Vacuum

Named it “Roomba the Brave.” It valiantly attempted to eat a sock, choked, and spent three days wedged under the couch emitting sad beeps until rescued.

Exhibit S: The Silk Blouse

Dry-clean only. Wore it once. Washed it anyway “just on delicate.” Emerged two sizes smaller and slightly felted.

Exhibit T: The Teak Patio Set

Beautiful. Sturdy. Left outside one winter because “it’s teak, it’ll be fine.” It was not fine.

Exhibit U: The Ukulele

Bought during a “learn an instrument” phase. Learned three chords. Dropped it off the porch while attempting to play “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” for the neighbors. Now slightly out of tune forever.

Exhibit V: The Velvet Chair

Gorgeous emerald green. Cat discovered it makes excellent scratching post. Now has character. Lots of character.

Exhibit W: The White Rug

You already know how this ends.

Exhibit X: The Xmas Ornaments (Vintage Glass)

Hung with care. Cat knocked tree over. Twice.

Exhibit Y: The Yoga Mat

Premium, non-slip. Used primarily as a picnic blanket, dog towel, and emergency sunshade in the car.

Exhibit Z: The Zero-Gravity Recliner

Dream chair. Assembled incorrectly. Collapsed dramatically during first use. I went down like a sack of potatoes in front of guests.

In conclusion, Your Honor, I rest my case.

I am not to be trusted with nice things. They come into my life shining and hopeful, and they leave battle-scarred, slightly askew, and often smelling faintly of regret.

But honestly? I kind of love the scars. They tell better stories than perfection ever could.

—Lila Wren

Eldridge Hollow

January 3, 2026

(Still drinking coffee from a chipped mug and perfectly content)