I just moved son #3 cross-country to Washington D.C. He deeply disappointed me by taking almost none of the wonderful things I've been storing expressly for his first post-college apartment. In typical millennial fashion, he thinks he knows what's what when it comes to good stuff. That he gave a thumbs-down to the Lillian August wingback chair that I nursed him in is evidence of the contrary.

"What's the ruffly thing on it?" he asked.

"That's called a chair skirt, and if you don't like it, we can just cut it off," I said, pulling up the fabric to reveal four perfect hardwood legs underneath.

"It's grandma-y," he said. "I think I'll pass."