You'd think that I would have to break my blogging silence with some earth-shattering revelation, some clever quip, some great theological debate. But I'd rather not, thankyouverymuch.
I will, however, break my blogging silence to tell you that I might be leaving my husband for that nice little old man who works at the Habitat Restore. Only because it might get me a discount there. Forget it, it's pretty cheap anyway. Probably not worth it in the long run.
But marital infidelities in the ceiling panel aisle aside, I am pretty much in love with this store. How have I lived in Lancaster for more than 5 years and never been there??? Me, who gets a severe case of
agita if I even just
walk by a yard sale, flea market, or thrift store? My guess is that, not owning a house, I had relatively little incentive to go in and buy, you know, tile. Or light fixtures. Or really stinking cool old windows. Or old posts whose patina would make my grandmother swoon.
But folks, as of tomorrow--- Lord willing and the creek don't rise-- I will be a
homeowner landlord slum-lord well, whatevertheheckyouwanna call it. And as such, I find myself in need of some tile. And light fixtures. And really stinking cool old windows. And old posts whose patina would make my grandmother swoon. (ETA: I just learned the word 'patina' and I think it's pretty swell, so you'll probably be hearing a lot of it out of me lately. Or reading it a lot from me lately, especially since I am not quite sure how to pronounce it. PAT-ina? Pa-TINA? Who knows.) I am most excited about a fabulous old sink I found to put in my brand-spanking new kitchen, which my way-cooler-than-that-nice-little-old-man-at-Habitat-Restore husband is putting in for me. Speaking of swell, he pretty much is. He's pretty much a miracle-worker, and I am super excited to see how our little crackhouse garage apartment is going to metamorphasize into a flippin' cool
party pad ahem, f
amily home.
And if it doesn't, here's hoping Old Mr. Re-Store man waits for me.
