My SIL came over Monday so I could get some errands done. It’s been killing me that I haven’t bought paper for Rocco’s birthday party that will happen in about two months, for example.
I spent a good part of my “time off” in a high-end furniture store called Masins, shopping for bedroom furniture. (If you recall, I’m redoing the master bedroom because alllllllllll my friends are buying new houses and Tightwad Kevin won’t let me buy another house.)
As soon as I got off the elevator at Masins, the secretary picked up the phone and said, “Gail*, please come upstairs for a Number Eight.”
At least that’s what I think she said. Just so’s you know, here’s what a Number Eight looks like:
But Masins has thought of everything, so much that they even keep one down-to-earth, disheveled looking staff member around among all the other highly groomed *cough*gay*cough* guys and Maybelline girls. Kevin tells me that being a Number Eight is actually pretty good, but I think the scale is different there. Gail, for example, was probably a Number Ten or Eleven by their own standards.
Still, even she took one look at me and gently steered me away from the “Guy Chaddock” section (near the storefront windows) saying, “We have a lower budget line upstairs I think you might like.” Seriously. But I swear, she said it in the kindest way, like when I used to be a teacher and I’d sneak a bag of homemade cookies to the student who couldn’t afford a lunch, saying I was too full to eat them.
Gail asked what kind of furniture I was looking for and I said mainly a bed; I’d probably get the other furniture from Ethan Allen. She looked at me as if I had farted. I think Ethan Allen is to Masins as Ikea is to…Ethan Allen?
Then Gail was interested in seeing a picture of the bedroom I’m redecorating, so I pulled up my phone and she peered over my shoulder as I went to my blog and scrolled through the various post titles until I found the one titled “When you’re sliding into first and you feel something burst…” because that post includes, in fact, the most recent picture of our bedroom.
Anyway. I actually didn’t love anything at the store, though I liked some of it. I’m trying to figure out now how I can have a Pretty Woman moment where I come back into the store and say, “Remember me from yesterday? Big mistake. Big. HUGE.” and show them all the stuff I bought at a store that treated me like royalty.
I just don’t know how I can bring a bed, an armoire, a chest of drawers, a nightstand, a lamp, an Oriental rug, and some wall art in with me to drive the point home.
WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
*Name changed. I really did like “Gail” and don’t want to incriminate anyone.