It must fit in the spot allotted for it—no larger, no smaller.
      It must give pleasure to a naked foot, yet not be so thick as to trip us. The corners must not flip up at the slightest provocation. It must lay smooth and flat—undisturbed by our trodding.
      Its pleasing colors must be arranged in a pleasing way. Our eyes must receive a little thrill whenever they pass over it—morning and evening—day after day—year after year.
      The dog must like to recline there. The dog’s deposit of hair must rise readily to the vacuum’s suck—but the color and pattern of the carpet must also disguise the hair so that if no vacuuming occurs, the carpet looks presentable nonetheless.
      When we wash it, it must not bleed.
      When we dry it, it must not stubbornly stay wet.
      When we hang it over the railing to beat, it must not resist.
      We do not wish to have to repair it, but if we must, the repair must be an easy one that requires no particular skill or knowledge.
      We must not disagree about the carpet. One of us must not suddenly desire a new carpet while the other still enjoys the original. The carpet must not create discordance of any kind in the house.
      There must never be a time when we look at the carpet and are left cold, or feel regret, or wish we had made a different choice. We must always feel that, of all the carpets available to us, we have selected the very best one.
      If we do tire of the carpet, we must be able to rid ourselves of it easily, casually, as one tosses a paper cup. We must never look at the bare floor, or the new carpet, and wonder what was so wrong with the old one, and who walked on it now.