There’s nothing like pulling up a 17th century settee to a rustic dining table and announcing “let’s pig OUT.” Something feels so right about it. As if all of the ghosts who graced it with their perfect derrieres and corseted 23-inch waists can finally let their hair down and dive into some short ribs and stout, no napkins necessary, thank you.

I found this piece of loveliness at the back of Mémoires d’un Âne and thought it would be the perfect comrade for the rustic trestle table where my children knit their dolls clothing. It’s lovingly aged to perfection and I’m completely transported back in time every time I sit on it. Happily in love!