I pulled, tires screaming, into the parking lot of my destination. It had become my new Saturday morning pacifier. My comfort zone for décor and room organization: the second hand shop downtown. I ran into the store, fueled by my white wall guilt brought on by hours of watching HGTV. The clerk smiled broadly as she saw me enter.
“Excuse me,” I asked wild eyed. “Did you get in any faux neo-Grecian sconces?”
“No, but there’s a new crop of plaster bas-relief rooster wall plaques.”
I aimed for the second room on the right, surveying the contents with one fell swoop of my eyes. The green patina two-tiered bath shelf, the framed lithograph of the shaggy Highland cattle, and the horned toad brass door stop would be mine.
I clutched my purchases as if they were Mexican discount prescriptions and headed off to my friend’s house. Nice of her to invite me to lunch since I don’t get many invitations lately. Jean is one who hasn’t called since I told her that her junipers sculpted to resemble giraffes really wrecked her curb appeal.
“Hi, Sophie,” I chirped as I entered her house. “You know, a hint of red would really accent this living room.”
I detected a scowl on Sophie’s face. Probably her displeasure with the entry-way rug she picked out.
“Here,” I said, extending my arm with my thank-you-for-lunch gift in hand. “It’s a hand-painted wooden sign that says bread in French. See, it says “pain”: bread! I thought you needed it for your kitchen. I couldn’t resist.”
Sophie sighed and took the sign. Lunch went well, though she did say she and Bert wouldn’t be coming to our holiday party this year.
I came home to find my husband in his office. I turned on HGTV and called to him, “Wait until you see what I bought today! Why did you just shut your door?”
“Oh, now stop playing around,” I chuckled, jiggling the handle. He finally relented and unlocked the door. I looked around the room and was aghast at his lack of spatial appreciation.
“You didn’t move your desk closer to the wall to eliminate that wasted space,” I squeaked. “I told you we can build a four-tiered bookcase for you out of that old out house sitting behind our property in the woods, and a nice warm color on the walls will give this room that cozy office feeling.”
I detected a groaning sound coming from my husband.
“You didn’t eat at that hot dog place again, did you?” I asked, hands on hips.
With that, he stood, pointed at the papers on his desk, and then pointed at the door.
I flounced out, reminding him that baskets stuck in shelving would keep him organized.
Retiring to my kitchen, I shook my head as I drove in the nails for my bas-relief plaster roosters. “Some people have no taste,” I muttered.
Betty Mermelstein has written and published various works, including poems, humorous personal narratives, fiction, and nonfiction articles. Find her books Jib And Spinnaker: Sailors Of The Low Seas, A School Year Of Caring, A Spirited Inheritance and Seven For Reflection on Amazon.
