Young people want to live their own lives, and part of that is choosing their furniture. You finally get a home of your own and the freedom to furnish it how you want and...oh I'm supposed to have all this old crap I don't really like.

Then your dad starts up with his shit. "Don't throw out that ratty yellowed old doily. I remember that from when I was a kid." "Okay, you take it." Here's a cabinet of gramma's china. They bought it for her out of a mail order catalog in the 30's so it's more sacred than god's glans.

We're also entering the era when the grandparents who are dying and leaving behind their furniture bought all their furniture from Sears and it's not much better than stuff you can get at Ikea, 40 years out of date, and seen 40 years of tobacco tar, cat piss and grampa farts.

I mean, you don't ask yourself why the heirs don't wear their grandparents' old clothes.