I’ve discovered why I’m feeling off-kilter these days, and it has nothing to do with trading aerobics classes for 35-ounce barrels of cheese balls.

Sadly, my house lacks a Zen den.

Once again, I didn’t know that I was living in such inferior housing until I picked up a trendy home design magazine. I don’t have a media room or home nightclub, either.

But a Zen den is especially popular during these nerve-jangling times. It’s a stress-free sanctuary for meditation, relaxation and simply getting away from it all.

For mothers with young children who behave like wild donkeys, this room sounds akin to a bathroom with a good lock.

A Zen den should have minimal decorating — perhaps a yoga mat, a soft pillow and a comfy chair. Phones and other electronic devices and distractions absolutely are forbidden. A calming wallpaper pattern is suggested.

Unfortunately, when I saw the word “wallpaper,” my nerves popped and skittered like water on a hot skillet. It brought back memories of days spent clawing wallpaper in bits the size of toenail clippings off our kitchen walls.

Once I calmed down, I continued reading about creating good vibrations in the Zen den with candles and essential oils. This reminded me of an essential oil — fried bologna — still releasing its scent in a dirty pan in the kitchen sink. I took a break to scrub it and erase all evidence of consuming that artery-clogging comfort food.

“Good vibrations” struck a nerve-shredding chord too. Just last week, I tried to wash a bulky chenille bedspread in our small-capacity machine. The appliance got unbalanced and vibrated wildly enough to knock a family portrait off its nail. The washing machine foxtrotted across the basement and was headed out the door to Duquesne Road when I punched its pause button.

However, I love the name of this room that’s missing from my real estate. “Zen den” is fun to repeat and rolls off the tongue.

Even more fun is quickly saying “Rin Tin Tin sips gin for din-din in a Zen den.” I entertained myself for a good 10 minutes repeating this mantra while dipping into my cheesy barrel.

Although I was sitting in my family room, I laughed myself into quite a Zen-like stupor.

Marti Attoun’s “Booth 186: My Secondhand Career in Vintage Corsets, Moose Heads and Other Moth-Eaten Antiques” is available as an e-book on Amazon.

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