Find a lovely dresser beside a dumpster. Drive under the cover of dark to avoid shameful exposure to townspeople with dignity. Load curbside furniture into backside of van and drive home very carefully so as to avoid newly acquired prize from sliding out of rear of vehicle.
Note the likely reasoning for depositing dresser at curbside. Recognize my own thrifty- and resourcefulness. Feel a sense of pride growing at the possibility of becoming the next, great recycler extraordinaire. Begin to imagine a huge following of fellow curbside rescuers. My own pinterest page. My own shop filled with beautiful, rescued furniture. Becoming mortgage free in a manner of weeks after sure success.
Gaze at the strong, stately legs. Lovely lines.
Begin to perspire potentiality.
Remove hardware.
Sand existing paint to prep for The New Old Look.
Cover in several coats of clean, white paint.
Begin to dream of the apparently effortless appearance of the Distressed Effect upon completion.
Go to sleep.
Wake up to rain.
Recall that there hadn't been rain in approximately seventeen weeks,
Hence the furniture fix-up station in the grand, dry outdoors.
Note the painting roller soaking in rain water andthe prized dresser now appearing rather damp.
Note a veneer on curb project that is beginning to lift.
Note a veneer on curb project that is beginning to lift.Refuse to lose heart.
Determine that this is, in fact, a gift.
Determine that this is, in fact, a gift.Peel off veneer to reveal a beautiful wood grain.
Erupt in praise of the heaven's rains.
Dresser shall be even more covet-able that formerly ascertained!
Enthusiastically begin to slide wooden drawers into dresser.
Look at rescue project + night of rain a little more closely. Become fully aware of the rather pronounced swelling of its natural fibers, making it utterly impossible to fit back into the dresser. Rather like a January attempt to fit into the size seven Calvin Klein jeans that one shelved in the closet from grad 1985.
Hurl the dresser off the deck in a sudden burst of disillusionment.
Commission strong husband to stomp upon item.Enlist son to build a large backyard fire.
Go for drinks.
Go for drinks. 
10 comments:
Those legs, those beautiful legs! Such a sad story!! Do we get a story about the tomatoes as well?
Next. In the Epic Series.
The Tomato Story.
I laughed. Belly laugh. Truly. I am in the middle of a headache-inducing makeover project myself, (started on Saturday - a tatty kitchen stool bought for £3) hence my appreciative amusement. Ta ever so much.
Wen- thank you for feeling my pain. Hope your tatty thingie has a happier ending...
nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!! rewrite the story joyce!! come on! that can't be the ending.....
I'm with Mary, I wanna hear about the tomatoes....
You know, I have real sympathy for you. Funny how a person can get used to a lack of rain. I forgot my camera outside that night. I am still thinking about what possible story I could make out of that to take the blame off of myself when I tell my husband we no longer have a working camera.
Any ideas? Would your tomato story work for me?
wellllll..... I did that to my husband's cordless drill last summer. I thought maybe letting it dry in the sun would fix it up right as rain (hardy ha) but it just pretty much seized . I managed a full and unabridged confession. It went quite well! Then I had to brace myself for the purchase of another drill...
I can invision your inner turmoil as you hurled dresser, and then comissioned husband to stomp (why didn't you go for broke on your own? No sledge hammers nearby?). I too have had good intensions go hopelessly wrong. I liked how you made the best of it though. Inspiring. Ending with "go for drinks". I have no idea what the tomato story is that people are mentioning. Maybe I need to hunt back through the blog. I have been away for awhile.
VB
I did the initial stomping, and made great progress. I would have thrown the dresser onto the campfire only partially disassembled, but then I thought about how the husband would react (shocked, frightened, and thinking ahead to the fact that the camper is within spark distance... and then remembering that with my string of luck, I'd likely set the grounds on fire....)
So, being lazy and not wanting to hunt for hammers, I used what was the closest- a large man. Not fat large, just impressively muscular and powerful. (he'd like that)
The tomato story has not yet been told. My sister is aware of it, and mentioned it in the run of comments. possibly today I could do a full rendition of the "Little house on the prairie woman who grows tomatoes"
And. you've been missed.
Post a Comment