I never thought I'd be the kind of person to obsess over wall art decor, but here I am, staring at a blank space above my couch like it's a crime scene. My sister suggested I try something called "What To Hang Above A Couch" therapy, which apparently involves scrolling through endless Pinterest boards until your eyeballs fall out. That's when I saw it: a large, orange ceramic flower, its petals spread wide like it was trying to catch cosmic rays. It was the size of a hubcap and just as likely to cause injury if it fell on someone's head. Perfect. I ordered it immediately, convinced it would transform my living room into a bohemian paradise. When it arrived, I realized I'd need a crane to lift it. As I struggled to mount this monstrous bloom on my wall, I couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of karmic payback for all the times I'd mocked my mother's china cabinet. Hanging there, it looked less like a flower and more like a traffic cone that had mated with a satellite dish. But hey, at least I had something to stare at during my next existential crisis. And isn't that what wall art decor is really all about?