For me, the thought of living in a house without a dresser is akin to living without a beating heart. It is incongruous to the very reverence of home. To be without one would be like a bibliophile living in a house without a bookcase or a painter inhabiting a room with no light. It is simply incomprehensible to me. My entire life can be plotted and recorded through an array of kitchen dressers over the years, all different in style and date but all documenting the life I have lived so far. Because in essence that is what a dresser is. It is a tangible photo album, a tactile journal of the discoveries and dreams of its owner.

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