The time was 8am on a Sunday morning and the place was Not My Bed so my heroic husband volunteered to pick the chair up for me. Apparently, the chair's former owner was just lovely, and helped him manuver it down skinny slippery steps lined with flower pots. She had an adorable toddler that was crying the whole time. Husband asked about the little darling, wondering if mommy should stop helping him move the chair to go see why the munchkin was so sad. And she said, 'oh, this is just her favorite chair.' Aw. Poor kid.
Now it just might be my favorite chair. I don't know where she's going to live yet.
Then yesterday evening I went to pick up the perfect side table for this chair. Only twenty dollars; I love Craigslist. The nice lady gave me super specific directions to her house, telling me what shops I would pass and what neighborhood signs I would see. She led me directly to her front door. Almost. She forgot to mention her front door was actually just a door to six apartments. And she didn't tell me the apartment number. I didn't have her phone number, and I wasn't about to drive home to email her, so I guessed. Found her on the third try. Her neighbors were quite nice.
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