When The Boy Child came home for Thanksgiving break, I ran some errands and brought us home some lunch. On the way back, I passed a desk on the curb with a free sign, so I slowed down for a look-see. And was there anything on top of that desk, you ask???? Well, I’ll tell you. It was this……………
Oh dear God of Vintage Roadkill. I couldn’t believe it. And it wasn’t just this one, there was another. I backed up the car and loaded ’em up along with that stinkin’ cute typewriter table. Let me tell you, they were FILTHY. I put them in the back of my car and about ten pounds of dust settled into the crevices.
I came home with lunch and showed The Boy Child my finds. Cuz he gets excited. Not like the girls who say, “Why do you bring home this crap and then get mad when we don’t love it?” Because I am your mother, that’s why. Which has nothing to do with the conversation, but I like to throw down some discipline once in awhile.
Anyhow, I told him about the desk and asked if he wanted to go back and look at it for his apartment. And he did, which seriously gets me so excited I can’t even tell you. We go back to shop and it was kind of rickety and not so cool so we passed on it. However, up by the garage was the garbage can and a bunch of bags next to it. Hmmmm……what could be in those bags? And that is how I ended up digging through some trash on private property with the dog next door barking like a damn, furry fool. Hey, Lassie, Timmy didn’t fall down the well after all so no need to alert the authorities.
I told The Big Daddy about our Excellent Adventure and he said, “Jeezus, are you trying to get yourself shot?” Negatory, BD. Just shopping. “Well, you can’t go up to people’s houses or they’ll think you’re robbing them.” Robbing them of potentially lucrative garbage that just may land me on Antiques Roadshow, thus securing our retirement at the mobile home park. And that’s the part where he’s supposed to say “thank you” but never does.
A few days later, Black Friday comes along and it is a crazy nightmare with mobs and trampling and pepper spray in the midnight hour. Pepper spray? For an X-box. I didn’t participate in that madness. I’ve got my own kind of madness to manage, and taking it into the crowds for a crappy two dollar waffle iron is not for me. You know, standards and all.