When my neighbor asked what I thought about her new wall art, I braced myself. Her taste in decor ranged from questionable to lawsuit-worthy, once nearly blinding a delivery man with a rhinestone-encrusted dreamcatcher. But nothing could have prepared me for the ceramic flower hanging above her couch. "It's... large," I managed, gaping at the orange monstrosity. It was less a flower and more a mutant citrus explosion frozen in clay, big enough to serve as an emergency landing pad for wayward eagles. She beamed. "Isn't it perfect? I've been agonizing over what to hang above a couch for months!" I nodded, wondering if "agonizing" was the right word. Surely "hallucinating" or "losing a bet" would be more fitting. "It really ties the room together," I lied, picturing it tying the room together like a bomb ties an infrastructure together. As I left, ducking to avoid the flower's gravitational pull, I couldn't help but think: if this is the answer to "what to hang above a couch," maybe it's time we all embraced sitting on the floor. At least down there, we'd be safe from rogue wall art with delusions of grandeur.