My apartment is atrocious to look at, poorly decorated and usually a mess but I'm a twenty-something bachelor so what do you expect?
The one thing that always gets a comment, though, is my coffee table. Whenever someone enters my home for the first time, they notice it. Granted, it's hard to miss being so much larger than a regular coffee table. It's also directly opposite the front door such that you have to step around it in order to cross the room.
That, and it's a coffin.
It's not one of those rectangular, polished, bevel-top coffins that are used today, oh no. It's one of the flat-topped, elongated hexagons meant to loosely mimic the shape of a person. It's made of unvarnished wood. It's the the kind of coffin you might see in a western when they bury the sheriff or that a certain immortal nobleman from eastern Europe might like to sleep in.
Dimitri, a friend from my old theatre troupe and quilting circle built it as a stage prop. It proved too heavy and the cast eventually found a replacement that was more wieldy. He bequeathed it to me when the USAF transfered him overseas. There it has sat ever since, huge, heavy, obvious, unique and always commented upon. I think it's my favorite bit of furniture.