In Which I Repeat Myself. A Lot.

His dad is very understanding

I worked the concession table last night at my daughter's drama production of Beauty and the Beast. Hey, I thought, why not? Everyone needs to do their part. How hard can it be?

Reader, I messed up the popcorn machine. Lumiere's dad had to clean out all the burned, stuck-on kernels and fix the stirrer thing. Mrs. Potts' mom relegated me to selling just the candy bars and (already cooked) pizza. Also, soda - I'm good at soda.

In other news, it's raining like the dickens out there this morning, which means I don't have to go outside and do my pretend jogging today. Instead I get to sit in my nice cozy den and blog at you. Which beats doing what I should be doing right now, which is paying this enormous bill it turns out I owe to the IRS. They sent me a nice letter yesterday explaining to me exactly how I messed up on my 2015 tax returns and telling me they want their extra money right away.

Cheaper than physical therapy

But, hey, I managed to save $50 on FitFlops at Nordstrom Rack yesterday, so there's that.

I know - it looks crazy to spend $60 on a pair of flipflops, right? But at one point, several years ago, these shoes were all I could walk in without pain. Their arch support, their cushioning, their microwobbleboard technology (whatever the heck that is) - they saved me. I have been a devotee of the FitFlop brand ever since. I WILL BE BURIED IN MY FITFLOPS.

This is not a sponsored post, by the way. I simply love me some FitFlops.

[Aaaand, I just noticed I already talked about my expensive FitFlop habit in this post here. Apparently, I am becoming one of those old people who repeat themselves a lot.]

For something completely different, let's talk about my coffee table, shall we? It's GONE. Larry says he asked me before he took it to Restore, but I don't remember.

I never even got to say good-bye.

We bought this table (and its two matching end tables) in pristine condition almost 20 years ago, from an elderly gentleman who was downsizing. He must have assumed they were going to a good home. These pieces were 40 years old, solid maple, and they gleamed. They looked as if they had been built just the day before, not almost half a century prior. They were the nicest furniture we had ever owned.

And then? We brought them home. To a house that included 3 young children, all of whom were captivated by the wide gleaming surface of the table, a surface wide enough to slide across on their stomachs. Whee!

Unfortunately, one of those children was wearing a belt. With a metal buckle. So, not 24 hours after these cherished, well-cared-for marvels of wood craftsmanship entered our house, we had a 6-inch gash down the center of the biggest one. And it only got worse from there.

There it is, in all it's tarnished glory (ignore the yarn)

A belated adieu, my derelict friend! You served us well all these years. May you go to someone who can not only restore you to your former splendor but also keep you that way. We didn't really deserve you, we know that now.

[Aaaand, after realizing I was repeating myself about FitFlops, I searched on "coffee table" in this blog and realized, yup, I've already talked about that, too. I may have to hang up my blogging hat at this point. Sorry.]

I have no idea why, but I seem to form emotional attachments to my furniture.