I just received a call from the owner of the consignment store.  She was not happy about the quality of my furniture (I guess my photos made it look better than in person?  I dunno).  I was afraid she was calling to tell me to come pick it all up.

That would not have gone over well with Banjo Man.  He did okay after the brutal Cornhusker loss Saturday night, but I’m not sure if he would see any humor in our furniture being rejected by a secondhand store.

She explained that she was pricing everything very low.  Just to get rid of it, was the unspoken meaning.  I knew how she felt, though I still miss my red chair.  She told me how much her rent was, and basically how much valuable space my crap was taking up.

I really felt bad.  Guilty.  As if I’d been caught trying to scam her.  I didn’t disappoint her on purpose!  I liked my stuff, even if no one else did.  Deep down I didn’t think it was so awful.

I hope she doesn’t google my name.

The woman who worked at the store yesterday loved my red chair.  She called it “adorable” twice.  She petted it.  But then I heard someone else call the owner on her cell and inform her that “someone brought in the ugliest furniture I have ever seen”.   I skulked out of there as fast as a woman could skulk.

Which proves you’re never too old to be embarrassed.