Domino Effect

My youngest just left for grad school on the East Coast. She had moved back home for ten months to ride out the winter months of the pandemic.  In April her dad up and sold his big house (where she always stayed) and moved out of state.

Suddenly I had a twin bed in the corner of the huge dining room, and she slept there almost every weekend from April to August (her apartment was across a bridge and through lots of traffic).

The problem with sleeping in the dining room is that you are fair game for any of the three dogs to jump on you, lick your hand, or whine in your ear. Also, the 6:30 a.m. feeding time in the adjacent kitchen is a noisy affair. The three-time rescue can’t contain her excitement of getting an anticipated meal and will bark all about it.

After Daughter boarded the flight to grad school, I looked at the twin mattress and decided I couldn’t get rid of it. She’ll be visiting hopefully at the holidays (pandemic permitting).  I asked my son to help me fit it into the sewing room.

Insert laughter here.

The sewing room is 10 feet by 11 feet. It already has two armoires, a tall shelving unit and a highboy dresser. I asked my son where we could move one of the armoires to.

More laughter.

In the end, he figured out that the mattress would fit nicely in the corner where I had several blue tubs stacked on top of each other. The tubs were mostly tea cups. We moved them to my bedroom and put the shelving unit in the garage. The mattress squeezed in.

The ugly tubs were bugging me and in my face every time I climbed in or out of bed. So yesterday, in a manic fit, I sorted through the seven tubs, saved 3 tubs of English bone china for the tea room lady (if she still has a tea room) and bagged up the rest of them (like I used to do in my shop) to sell on Craigslist.

But first I posted the photos to my Facebook page. One chorus friend pointed out that someone on Facebook Marketplace was looking for tea cups.  I’ve never used it, but I thought, what the heck?

The armoire is safe in the sewing room, and the tea cups are covering my dining room with three leaves in it. I have women scheduled all day tomorrow to come shop, with two requirements.

I. Be vaccinated. 2. Bring cash.

So, you see, if it weren’t for my ex moving away and son’s clever thinking, I never would’ve sorted through those tubs. Who needs 102 made-in-China-or-Japan tea cups? They’re cute (I only buy cute things), and I can sell them for the great price of $5.00 each with a clear bag and pretty bow. Everyone is happy.

Except the dogs.

And my low back. But we won’t go into that right now.

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