The dog is howling upstairs, despite the fact that he knows full well that I am down in the basement. Maxwell and I are off to look at a vintage bamboo buffet that a friend has offered for our deck.
The rusty metal thing that we currently use for serving, potting plants and general holding of stuff may be on borrowed time.
Maxwell and I found it on the side of the road a few years ago, while out walking one evening and wheeled it home about 20 blocks.
I don't set out to mortify my children, by pushing cast off furniture through the streets, but sometimes it happens.
I think we're both the descendents of tinkers or knackers or something, which is why we have no shame. It's what makes you my friend, among other things. Also: sense of quality when it comes to food and utterly neglectful home décor style, right? Or is that just me. I think it's mainly me.
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