The house up the street had an estate sale. They posted photos of some of the items available online, so we had an idea of what to expect. One of the photos was of this rug. Chelsea sent me there with explicit instructions to buy it.
It wasn’t as easy as that.
First, I didn’t know we needed to sign up to go in. I accidentally found out when someone parked in front of our house 45 minutes before the start time. She walked up to the house and came back a few minutes later. I asked if they were letting people in. She said no, but they had a sign-up list and would only let 15 people in at a time.
I ended up being number 18 on the list. That meant I had to wait in the yard until 3 of the first 15 left.
Okay, fine.
Once it was my time to go in, I found the rug, but there was no price tag on it. I asked a worker about it and was told that probably someone in the house had pulled the tag and was planning on buying it.
Boo.
I looked at all the other items they had for sale in order to kill some time and possibly see who was going to bring the raincloud of sadness upon my wife. People were leaving with their purchases pretty steadily, but the rug remained.
While I was browsing/spying, I heard others asking about the rug and being told the same thing I had been. I grew tired of waiting and made one last ditch effort. I went back to the person I had spoken with. I told them that if no one ever claimed it to call me, and I’d walk back over and get it.
At our house, I broke the bad news to Chelsea and left to run errands as quickly as possible so I didn’t have to watch her cry. (I may be embellishing that part, but maybe not.)
Around an hour and a half later, I was pulling back into our driveway when the phone rang. It was one of the workers at the estate sale letting me know it was still there. I parked the car, trekked back up the street, and became a hero in my wife’s eyes.
For three days now, she hasn’t stopped looking at me with adoration in her eyes. (I am definitely embellishing that part.)