Just thought of another one ...
In my early 20s I used to have a weekly night out with the girls and we would take turns to drive. When it was my week I used to go and pick one friend up and she was never ready, so I always ended up having to wait 15 or 20 minutes or so with her mum. Never got invited upstairs to friend's bedroom - explained away by the 'renovations' and stuff being all over the place.
I would usually wait in the hall or kitchen, and the place was in a perpetual state of 'being decorated'. They'd bought a 1930s doer upper, that obviously hadn't been touched for years. They were clearly taking their time and the decorating paraphernalia was everywhere - never moved from week to week, very little progress made, half stripped walls, partially rubbed down paint work. Nothing much ever seemed to change and this went on for months if not years.
Her mum was a strange quiet woman and conversation was always a bit awkward. She would attempt to make small talk, and it would mostly be about the renovations/decorating, how they were getting on, how awful the house was when they bought it and why they wanted to change it. I was always relieved when friend eventually came downstairs and we could go. There was a dad around somewhere and a brother I think, but I don't remember them, just the mum.
Anyway, on this particular occasion, friend was taking longer than usual, and her mother obviously got fed up of making small talk with me in the hall, so asked if I wanted to go and sit in the lounge with her where she was watching something on the telly, that I had obviously interrupted. I went in to this floral horror of a room - garish wallpaper, horrible carpet, mismatched curtains etc - and you've probably guessed it ....
"Crikey, after seeing this room, I can totally understand why you want to decorate" ... says I, or words to that effect. I think I might have laughed as well at the awfulness of it. 
"Actually", says the mother "this room is the only one we have finished!".
Try backtracking from that!