After the Victorian wardrobe salvage saga…
After spending four hours in an unheated building.
After ripping apart a wall with a toothpick.
After loading and unloading a truck until nearly midnight…
Paul told me to stop looking on Craigslist for a while.
He said I had reached my quota.
I nodded and pretended like he was the one who made such decisions.
Then I went and looked on Craigslist.
1. I have a totally ill-advised fondness for anyone named Rocky.
2. Even I can see that a FIFTEEN foot-tall mirror may be too large for our house.
3. It’s probably total junk.
There are lots, and lots, and lots of mirrors in the antique-listings on craigslist. Half of them are junk. The other half aren’t even old. Plus, a posting with no photo is USUALLY a guarantee that it’s not worth your time.
So I closed the tab… and told myself it was nothing.
I certainly didn’t say anything to Paul about it.
But a few weeks later, I saw it again… and the primordial-mirror-troll that lives in my head said: you should find out what that is.
And I was like—look, mirror-troll:
A. Paul’s head will explode.
B. How could I get a 15 FOOT mirror into the house?
And the mirror-troll said— What if it’s fancy? Why are you slacking off?
So I emailed the guy.
Did you read that?
Did you read it closely?
Is there any description that could possibly be more appealing to me than something that looks like a KINGDOM?
No. No there is not.
The mirror-troll was like— S.C.O.R.E.
And I said— hold on, twelve-feet is still WAY TOO BIG.
The mirror-troll said—I bet it’s not that big.
I bet they didn’t even measure it.
I BET YOU SHOULD GET IT.
I was like– word.
So on Saturday morning, I said to Paul, casually— do you want to go look at something?
I think his hair actually stood on end.
He was like— WHAT?
No! No, I do not!
I was like— oh, okay, well… we could go this afternoon… if you wanted to.
You know what he said?
Nothing. NOT ONE THING.
That silence USED to make me insane. But now I see it as a stage in the Kübler-Ross model of acceptance.
Not even twenty-minutes later, he said—what is this thing you want to see?
To you, this sounds like a question. To me, it sounds like defeat.
So. You can see that this is the smallest house ever.
Which did not at ALL bode well for what I was hoping.
We rang the bell, and the guy came out… He walked past us, down the front steps and started down the sidewalk.
Paul said—should we follow you? Where are we going?
And the guy said— it’s in the alley, under a tarp… it doesn’t fit in the house.
I really wish I had a photo of the look on Paul’s face.
Paul said— what? Excuse me? How big is this?
The guy said—about 12 feet.
Paul said—TWELVE feet?
I could hear him gritting his teeth.
Sometimes? When Paul is giving me his best stony silence? I just pretend I don’t notice.
It’s way more convenient.
I said cheerfully—that’s NOT twelve feet tall!
Paul acted like this was somehow not of utmost importance.
He said—why did you bring me to look at a mirror that was advertised as 12 feet tall?
And I said—I didn’t.
It was advertised as 15 feet tall.
But I thought they might be wrong.
I guess Paul is jealous of the way the universe is my personal shopper, because he didn’t even acknowledge that it’s pretty amazing how I psychically knew this.
To cheer him up, I told him—the guy says it looks like a kingdom.
Paul said— I have no idea what you’re talking about.
I was like—a KINGDOM. Kings? Castles? Have you seen the Vatican?
I was like– I think I’m going to have a seizure.
The mirror-troll said—I TOLD YOU SO.
Proving for all time, that you NEVER KNOW what is on the other end of a craigslist ad.
It’s probably total crap. But it might be this:
I said—yup. For sure. I will DEFINITELY be needing that.
Let’s pack it up.
Paul said— are you kidding me? Are you even seeing the same thing I am?
And I was like—look at me. Look me in the eye. Do you really believe I am leaving here without this? Because I’m not.
If I have to go on steroids for the next six months? And get a trainer to teach me to dead-lift 1,000 pounds so that I can move it myself?
This will happen.
Paul has this look that he gets. Where CLEARLY he would like to kill someone. But now he is totally inconvenienced because he CAN’T.
Because he has to move a giant mirror.
Obviously, I’m fine with murderous-irritation… it’s a small price to pay for my everlasting happiness.
Besides, it’s not my fault that the universe WANTS ME TO HAVE THESE THINGS.
In fact? It is OUTSIDE MY CONTROL.
We went home to get Brian’s truck… and on the way, I texted a photo to my mom.
She said— WOW! I cannot WAIT to see it in your house!
I told Paul—my mom loves it!
Paul said– that’s because everyone in your family is an insane enabler with no concept of reality.
Which is true. And also why I love them.
You’re thinking this does not look totally reasonable?
Well, it is.
All we had to do was lay it on the bed of the truck. And then use the magic straps which, for about five dollars and a lot of irritation, will do everything including hauling giant bookshelves up three flights of stairs.
Which is a whole other post.
Then we drove home on I-95, which is 14-lanes wide… There is nothing like transporting a Kingdom down a freeway, at 60 miles-an-hour, while tractor-trailers blow by you.
You have not experienced the meaning of FUN. Until you have done this.
Especially since everyone got to listen to me say 47,984 times—OH MY GOD I CANNOT BELIEVE WE ARE GETTING THIS. CAN YOU BELIEVE WE ARE GETTING THIS?
OH MY GOD I CANNOT BELIEVE IT.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?
Everyone really enjoyed that part.
The guys who helped us get it in the house (and will never help us move anything again, because it weighs at least 800 pounds) were like—what are you going to do with it?
And I’m confused by what that question means.
I’m not going to DO anything with it.
It exists. Therefore it is mine.