After a particularly intense car ride involving mochi and lots of traffic, Andrea and I ditched Chooch with Henry and went shopping. First I showed her Wildcard—the place that used to sell my art when I was an “artist.” I was pretty underwhelmed with everything I saw there, except for the Yee Haw screenprints (I bought one off Etsy for Chooch when he was a baby), but I almost bought this plastic Polaroid frame necklace so I could lay a new picture of Jonny Craig against my chest everyday, but it was $20 so I had to check with Henry since it was a day before my payday and we totally live paycheck-to-paycheck. Henry gave me permission but then I got all pouty and indignant over the fact that I had to check with him in the first place, so I decided I would just go back and buy it after I got paid and without needing to check with Papa H.
Plus, I wasn’t sure I really wanted it anyway. Henry can probably just make me one.
I’m even high-strung about small ticket purchases.
Afterward, we were drinking iced coffee on a bench when I realized I could take her to my favorite place in Pittsburgh—Zenith. It’s an antique store/vegetarian restaurant combo, and I’ve never been there to just browse the merch, but no way was I going to make a connoisseur of exotic meats dine on tofu and tempeh.
Andrea found all these cool courtroom drawings, and I really wanted her to have this one depicting the murder weapons, but it was kind of overpriced for something drawn with chalk on cardboard. If the lady-owner had been there yesterday, I probably could have haggled with her for it since she was so enchanted with me the last time I was there. But instead, some dude was in charge that day, maybe it was her son. I didn’t get bartering vibes from him, though.
I wanted Andrea to get this dress, but she claims it wasn’t her size. Really, I think she knows she’s not hardcore enough to wear a dress with bloodstains on it.
I’m going back for this bathing suit, maybe even the whole ensemble. I don’t care how bad Andrea hates it! When I look like Blanche Devereaux lounging on the lanai, we’ll see who’s laughing then!
I can’t wait until I get a house to fill with doll and mannequin heads.
It will be such an inviting abode!
“Did you see the wheelchair hanging up there?” Andrea asked, pointing above her head. I had been too busy prowling for clown things to look up, so I had not, in fact, seen the most majestic vintage wheelchair dangling precariously from the ceiling.
I literally gasped. It was all I could do. Then I believe I yelled, “OH SHIT I WANT THAT!!” How could someone like me not have something like that to sit upon while sipping coffee and smiling at the melodious birds out the front window? I was so afraid to inquire upon the price, but Andrea prodded me. When the guy squinted at it and said, “Hmmm…$40,” I almost died. That was something I could afford, and not only that but it’s practically an investment. Oh, the photoshoot ideas I have coagulating around my brain right now. I could use the shit out of something like this.
So I called Henry and prefaced it with, “OK, don’t say no, and also–I didn’t buy that necklace.” I thought maybe that would soften him up a little bit, to know that I showed restraint when it came to accessories. And then I told him about the wheelchair in my signature quick-speak, and while he didn’t actually say no, he did say to wait until next week.
“THEY’RE CLOSED FOR VACATION NEXT WEEK!” I wailed.
“Well, then the week after that,” he was quick to retort.
“SOMEONE IS GOING TO BUY IT IF I DON’T!” I cried, and I’m pretty sure Henry and Andrea both muttered “No one is going to to buy that” in tandem.
I finally got him to agree to let me buy it right there on the spot, with an arrangement for him to pick it up the next day with his van But then I couldn’t find the guy to tell him the great news, so I frantically paced around the racks of muumuus and caftans, sweating and looking like a general fool, while Andrea calmly browsed for a present for her boyfriend. How does she stay so calm?! I was sweating so bad from all the anxiety this wheelchair was bringing to my life, that I had to periodically take time out to stand in front of the floor fan.
Finally, I poked my head into the kitchen and asked the girl doing food prep if she knew his whereabouts, and she pleasantly abandoned her vegetable-cutting in favor of fetching him for me. (I think his name was Richie? Unless his name was Wheelchair, I didn’t really care.)
And that is how I became the proud owner of a wheelchair that’s probably infested with the spirits of expired psychiatric patients. Henry should consider himself lucky: a haunted wheelchair or neckwear that will force him to look at Jonny Craig’s face everyday? I think he’ll agree that he got the better deal.
Now I just have to add sipping coffee while smiling at the melodious birds out the front window into my daily routine.