1999-10-29

A thrift is just a thrift...

I am not allowed to bring any more crap home.

Basically, what my problem is, is that I am a thrift junkie. Big time. I love having my arms buried elbow-deep in moldy cardboard boxes of old records. I thrill at the sight of a yard sale. I come home laden with wrinkled shopping bags full of the day's booty, smelling like mothballs, and vibrating from one too many cups of church basement coffee.

Kev has been most tolerant from the get-go. Of course when we first embarked on our relationship, I gave him the standard Cardinal Rule of Dating Lisa: "Love me, love my stuff." And surely he enjoys the bevy of compliments we get when we entertain; one friend likens our home to a "museum of crap." More important still, he does not go thrifting with me. (This is a solitary pursuit for me; I cannot be hindered by worry over whether or not my companion is bored. I knew I was in trouble once when a former boyfriend thought it would be "fun" to go "antiquing" with me. He later wound up sitting in his car cringing in embarrassment as I danced around some lady's garage with a 70's Fisher-Price farmhouse yelling, "Look hon: it still MOOS!")

Kev assures me that he still loves me, that my uncontrollable urge to thrift is not a liability.

No, the problem at hand is now our lack of SPACE. More and more, certain rooms are taking on a life of their own. I understand this. I'm working on it. It's tough going right now, but I shall overcome.

lisamcc at 09:04:55

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