I hate going to antique fairs. Why? Because there are so many booths and I can’t tell the good stuff from the crap. And because my wife likes to browse, and if she sees something she wants, she makes me buy it, whether we need it or not.
But my wife and I just bought a 100-year-old craftsman-style home in Connecticut and she wants to fill it with period pieces. Of course she does. So when she said that she wanted us to go to the annual antiques fair, what choice did I have?
I told her we had to limit our purchases to a specific list of items and not just buy things willy-nilly. “So what’s on your list?” I asked her.
“We need a bed and a lamp for the guest room,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “A bed and a lamp. That’s it, right?”
“Yes sir,” she said, and gave me a mock salute.
By midday we had the items on her list. I was feeling good until my wife dragged me to a tent and insisted we make one more purchase.
When we left the fair, we had a bed, a lamp, and a new cat.
Written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Photo: GaborfromHungary at Morguefile.com. Also for the Three Things Challenge from Di at Pensitivity101, where the three things are “bed,” “lamp,” and “cat.”