Aug 032016
 

During our travels on Saturday, we pulled up to Antique Emporium in Beaver Falls at the exact moment they closed. I wailed about this and of course blamed Henry who took it in stride because this is normal life for him. Had I softly said, “Shucks, oh well. That’s life. Perhaps another time we can come back and try again, but for now, let’s go home and I’ll cook you a nice big supper, dear heart” he probably would have tried to rip my face off to reveal the corrupt robot underneath.

The next day, I declared that we were going to go back to the antique place, because I had a Good Feeling about it. Sometimes, when you know you know, you know?

But first we had to feed our Child-Thing, so we stopped at Hank’s, which is some walk-up snack shack in New Brighton that specializes in custard and Mexican food. Obviously. I already ate before we left the house because I was pouting and doing that defiant thing I do where I slam shit around so that everyone is aware that LOOK, ERIN IS DOING THINGS FOR HERSELF MAYBE I SHOULD OFFER TO HELP but of course no one offered to help so I had some dumb microwavable foodstuff because there is not much more I can handle.

Henry claims that we went to Hank’s once a long time ago but I allegedly “threw a fit” in the parking lot which doesn’t sound like a thing that I would do.

At all.

I wish I had known that we were going to be stopping here, because I took one or 8 giant bites of Chooch’s bean burrito and it was divine, just the way I want my American knock-off Mexican food to be!

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Here is a picture of Chooch, still being a vegetarian.

Ugh I want to go back there and get my own burrito. :(

After Hank’s, we finally made it back to Antique Emporium and I gave Chooch the stern “DON’T TOUCH A THING” lecture before we crossed the threshold and it always reminds me of the time my grandma was doing the same thing to me in Italy (Assisi, I think?) when we were in some BREAKABLES! shop and then guess who knocked over a bunch of glass shit with her PURSE? Not this girl—I was wearing a fucking fanny pack.

And then my Pappap had to pay for all the shit my GRANDMA broke.

So every time I preemptively yell at Chooch about these things, I can’t help but worry that I’m jinxing myself.

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Luckily, the proprietors of this establishment are super chill and instead of giving Chooch the hairy eyeball, they gave us a run-down of the shop, including where to pour ourselves some COMPLIMENTARY WINE, and the fact that they offer LAYAWAY.

Henry wishes he could rewind time and slap a hand over her mouth before she had the chance to say it.

We weren’t in the place for more than 30 seconds when I found an old arcade game topper from the early 90s that I knew I had to have.

“For what?!” Henry asked incredulously.

“We’ll take down Chooch’s picture from above the fireplace mantel, throw it in a closet, and put this in its place!” I cooed, hands folded adoringly across my heart. 

Henry wouldn’t commit right away (shocking) so we continued exploring the three floors of the shop and even Chooch was into it, I think because it wasn’t your typical stuffy antique shop. It had loads of historical items and lots of medieval-looking furniture that I want to fill Gillcrest with.

I had a strange conversation with the man-proprietor of the shop, when I thought he was asking me if I found my phone case there, and we both kept repeating ourselves at the same time and it was a complete fuckarow which ended with us having a conversation about unicorn tears (my phone case is a big floppy pink cup that says Unicorn Tears, and has a straw). Henry told me later that what the man was really asking me was if I found anything there, which is the point where I all but THRUST my phone at him so he could get a better look at my case.

This is why I try not to leave the house too often.

But anyway — yes I did find something there, actually!

A FUCKING WHEELCHAIR!

ON SALE!

AND THEY HAVE LAYAWAY.

Turns out Henry had already seen the wheelchair and was hoping I would miss it, but like come on man – my wheelchair senses were firing off from two rooms over.

We did a lot of hissing back and forth and Henry left me standing there alone, my tears mixing with the unicorn’s, but I knew it wasn’t over yet. IT’S NEVER OVER UNTIL I SAY IT IS.

Henry told the man that we were going to take the arcade game piece and believe me, I was extremely happy about this but who knows how safe that wheelchair was?! Anyone could have come in and snatched it! So we resumed our hush-hush domestic financial hissing until Henry finally conceding and told the man that we would also be putting the wheelchair on layaway (THANK YOU LAYAWAY) and then to me he growled, “You fucking owe me” when the man was out of earshot.

Look at this beautiful baby! This puts my wheelchair count up to three so I can almost comfortably call it a collection. I need at least three more though!

My love for old wheelchairs is indescribable and I can’t even believe Henry panders to it.

And this guy!!! Henry said he’s pretty sure it can be rewired or whatever so that it will light up again.

I woke Henry up from a nap later to have him hoist it up against the fireplace wall so I could see how magical it looked. That’s when I realized that the wall needs to be painted for. Probably hot pink. I haven’t decided yet.

Because I’m a materialistic brat, this was a great ending to my dumb birthday weekend! Yay – more stuff that makes no sense to most people’s interior aesthetic but looks perfectly at home in my house!

  One Response to “I Turned 37 & Wanted Stuff So I Went & Got Stuff”

  1. I love that you have an antique wheelchair collection. Because of course you do. Because you’re amazing. Happy belated birthday, my love!

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