Never make the mistake of thinking that teenage boys treat furniture with respect. By the time that my son had outgrown his desk it was chipped, scratched, ink-stained, missing half of the drawer knobs and sticky (and no, I don’t really want to speculate on the cause of the stickiness, thanks). I, on the other hand, was fed-up of sitting on the floor to do my make-up in the mornings so I jumped at the chance of repossessing said desk, which had been mine in the first place anyway, and converting it into a dressing table.
