On Saturday, I visited Goodwill. I told
myself I was only going in to look. Just for a second. (That's all it
takes, isn't it?) I don't need a cart. If I get a cart, that'll make
me put stuff in it and then I'll buy that stuff and then we'll have too
much stuff again and need to get rid of that stuff. The circle is
Nope, I'm just going to look.
Now, I have to tell you that I've
planned to buy new stools for my kitchen for a while now and hadn't yet
found a set I absolutely had to have...until Saturday. Because Saturday
I found these.
|Ignore the peeling vinyl, I'm going to re-cover them.|
The best part?
At that price, you'd better believe I
trotted up to the front of the store, grabbed myself a cart and shoved
those suckers in it faster than a ...faster than...faster than something
already fast performing a difficult task IMPRESSIVELY fast.
Those stools were MINE. I staked my
claim. After giving me a bit of trouble, I finally convinced the bar
that they needed to come home with me and they fit into the cart
obligingly. This is important. If you put something in your cart,
that's like writing your name all over your school supplies or licking
the last piece of pizza. It says "Mine". And no one else will get
their grabby Saturday-thrift store mitts on them. Unless they want to
tangle. *threatening face*
I was pretty stoked about this stool
purchase. Until. Until I found something even better! An air hockey
table for only forty bucks! FORTY! I whipped out my cell phone and
sent Sugar Daddy a text telling him of our incredible good fortune.
"Rejoice! I have found the air hockey table of our dreams!"
I imagined our days filled with the soft
hum of the table and the clickiety-clackity-smack of the puck as we
battle for a tiny plastic replica of the Stanley Cup.
"Basement or garage, which do you think it'll fit in?"
He sent back, "Um...no."
WHAT?! Are you kidding me? This is the end-all-be-all of family entertainment devices! We NEED THIS.
"Aw, why not? It's only $40. C'mon, man. I WANT IT!"
As Miss Madison will recognize, he sent
back the same message we send to our oldest daughter when she tries to
push the envelope: "The answer is no. This will be the last text about
this. Further texts will result in consequences."
Now, it's true that we really don't have
much room for an air hockey table anyway, and his idle threat had me
giggling in the middle of the store, but I couldn't very well respond to
Sugar Daddy with anything supporting his logic, so I instead sent:
"*pfft* Dude. That's whack."
I got the stools.
And these are GREAT bar stools!
Sadly, once I got them home I remembered
that there is a difference between "bar stool" and "counter stool".
That difference is about 4 inches. My counter is simply too short for
But wait! I have a dad. My dad has
major power tools. I'm very hopeful that the combination of my dad and
the major power tools will be just the ticket to taking them down a
Edited to add: I sent my father a text
asking if he'd be willing to cut four inches off 8 legs...belonging to
no one he knew, and if so, when would be a good time.
"Now." He sent back.
I hurried over to my folks' house where
we performed partial amputations on the bar stools with a table
saw...and laughed while we did it with sickening glee. Hobbled, they
now look like this:
And they fit perfectly under the counter.
I took the severed legs home with me.
If the stools give me any more grief I can always flaunt them with a
menacing look that says, "There's more where this came from."
Now that I think of it, I might use them in my next giveaway.