“White bed linens and a four poster bed.” That was my requirement when hunting for honeymoon accommodations. I was not going to have the most romantic venture of my life in a room that had flamingos (or the color teal) on the bedspread.
Having just booked our three day summer getaway to my childhood vacation spot, Gooseberry Cabins, 30 miles past Duluth, I marvel at how nostalgic value trumps any other conceived value. I really value “pretty” accommodations and accoutrements. That said, my love for these quaint cabins—cabins where my grandparents stayed as young newlyweds, cabins where I romped around as a child climbing boulders and roasting hotdogs, cabins where my best friend in high school, Christa, shrieked when entering the bathroom, “Wow, if you were even slightly fat, you wouldn’t fit in here!” Oh yes, these cabins fill me with such a fury of nostalgic romanticism that I can hardly wait the next three weeks for my tiny, and well deserved vacation to come.
And though I realize that I will undoubtedly be sleeping under a bedspread abundant with shades of hunter green and maroon, and probably a cross-stich of moose antlers on the wall, I am so, so happy. And cannot wait for July 22-24 to come!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
To Be or Not To Be . . . A Gluttonous Tale
Working in product sales, there are a lot of freebies. At least once a week I return home with a free item (or a box full!) That said, there is always a fine line to walk: how much is okay to take, and at what point do I look like a big oinker?
Today, this conflict came to a head. Another vendor in our building was having a moving sale. This vendor sells an assortment of very pricey table-top items. For today only, as a means of liquidating their inventory, nothing had a price. They were only requesting free will donations. I love and hate free will donations equal parts. It is too risky. You either overcompensate and pay too much, or you give too little and look like cheapskate. Today, I chose the latter.
When I entered the sales floor, there were already lots of women “having their way” with the merchandise. They had huge boxes overflowing with table runners, decorative napkins, votive holder, and tea blends. In good faith I chose a “small box” to begin hoarding my goods. I grabbed five packets of linen placemats (retail for $54), as well as some pretty glass napkin rings (retail $16). I then noticed some gorgeous twine and glass balls and grabbed five . . . okay, ten (retail $8). I moved onto the picture frames. I picked up three etched glass frames and added them to my box (retail $32). At this point, I discarded my small box, and transported all of my goods a larger, more appropriate box.
Next I made my way to the votive table (oh how I love you ambiance, oh how I need you small candle holders), I grabbed twelve embellished holders and six plain gold holders (retail $18 and $12). Just as I was getting embarrassed that I now looked like the women mentioned earlier, I noticed some beautiful recycled wood salad tongs, I grabbed just one set, and added them to my stash (retail $30).
I was finally done, and now for the awkward “payment” stage. I had one twenty and five one dollar bills. I crumpled them all together in what appeared to be a large wad and handed them to the man working the checkout. I prayed that he would not unroll the wad while I was still standing there with my overflowing box. Thankfully, he just put the cash in the little apron thing he was wearing, and I scurried off, actually more like lumbered off (the box was quite large).
However, now that I have actually written this account, I am feeling quite guilty. If I tally up all the grossly inflated retail costs, I come up with a figure of $900.00! That means I got the products for 99.972% off. I could either chalk this up to being a very, very good deal, or I could acknowledge it for what it was: a pure, unadulterated, glutton fest!
Today, this conflict came to a head. Another vendor in our building was having a moving sale. This vendor sells an assortment of very pricey table-top items. For today only, as a means of liquidating their inventory, nothing had a price. They were only requesting free will donations. I love and hate free will donations equal parts. It is too risky. You either overcompensate and pay too much, or you give too little and look like cheapskate. Today, I chose the latter.
When I entered the sales floor, there were already lots of women “having their way” with the merchandise. They had huge boxes overflowing with table runners, decorative napkins, votive holder, and tea blends. In good faith I chose a “small box” to begin hoarding my goods. I grabbed five packets of linen placemats (retail for $54), as well as some pretty glass napkin rings (retail $16). I then noticed some gorgeous twine and glass balls and grabbed five . . . okay, ten (retail $8). I moved onto the picture frames. I picked up three etched glass frames and added them to my box (retail $32). At this point, I discarded my small box, and transported all of my goods a larger, more appropriate box.
Next I made my way to the votive table (oh how I love you ambiance, oh how I need you small candle holders), I grabbed twelve embellished holders and six plain gold holders (retail $18 and $12). Just as I was getting embarrassed that I now looked like the women mentioned earlier, I noticed some beautiful recycled wood salad tongs, I grabbed just one set, and added them to my stash (retail $30).
I was finally done, and now for the awkward “payment” stage. I had one twenty and five one dollar bills. I crumpled them all together in what appeared to be a large wad and handed them to the man working the checkout. I prayed that he would not unroll the wad while I was still standing there with my overflowing box. Thankfully, he just put the cash in the little apron thing he was wearing, and I scurried off, actually more like lumbered off (the box was quite large).
However, now that I have actually written this account, I am feeling quite guilty. If I tally up all the grossly inflated retail costs, I come up with a figure of $900.00! That means I got the products for 99.972% off. I could either chalk this up to being a very, very good deal, or I could acknowledge it for what it was: a pure, unadulterated, glutton fest!
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Lucky You!
I am crazy about my husband. He is the kindest, most even-keel, genuinely pleasant person I have ever come across. Though he is generally extremely level-headed, he experienced, shall we say, a “massive moment of impulse” yesterday.
I admit it, I am extremely impressionable. Guaranteed, if I watch an infomercial all the way through, I am convinced by the end of the 30 minutes that my life would somehow be better if I owned the triple charged steamer iron or Kamara’s new body shaper. However, when people come to my door selling items, I am as cold as ice—I can even turn away cute little girls selling cookies!
On the other hand, if you knock on our door, and Scott’s home, your sales quota is met! One year he bought $160.00 worth of magazine subscriptions from a “supposed” former drug addict trying to better themselves. Other years, (very forgivable) he bought Christmas Wreaths’ from the Boy Scouts. I had to go an entire holiday season with an ugly, misshapen wreath, fastened by a tacky red felt bow. But, without question, this year’s purchase takes the cake.
I came home yesterday afternoon only to hear Scott in the kitchen, “I need your help right away, I bought something . . . “
Uh oh.
I thought perhaps he bought an improved air conditioning unit and needed my help to haul it into the spare room. But no . . . when I turned the corner into the kitchen, I found Scott with the freezer wide open. There on the ground was not one gigantic box of meat, but two. I am talking massive, gargantuan, need a fork-lift to transport, boxes of meat!
Evidently, a salesman stopped by with a “cannot pass this up” deal, and Scott bought it hook, line, and sinker. Does this come down to men being visual? I am sure if the salesman would have shown Scott cardboard images of the product, he may not have been so keen to take the plunge. But when he pulled out the beautiful, perfectly marbled slabs of steak and questioned Scott, “You do like meat, right?” all of his manly instincts kicked into high gear and had him clamoring for his checkbook.
Back to yesterday with the meat boxes strewn across the kitchen floor, I ask,
“So, where are we going to put all this?”
. . . 30 minutes later Scott returns from Home Depot with a deep freezer in the back of his truck.
So, there you have it--the retelling of my husband’s momentary lapse of reason, and how it put a large debit in our checking account.
What this means for you: you will be eating the cream de la cream of meat de la meat when we host summer BBQ in August. Lucky you, not so lucky me!
I admit it, I am extremely impressionable. Guaranteed, if I watch an infomercial all the way through, I am convinced by the end of the 30 minutes that my life would somehow be better if I owned the triple charged steamer iron or Kamara’s new body shaper. However, when people come to my door selling items, I am as cold as ice—I can even turn away cute little girls selling cookies!
On the other hand, if you knock on our door, and Scott’s home, your sales quota is met! One year he bought $160.00 worth of magazine subscriptions from a “supposed” former drug addict trying to better themselves. Other years, (very forgivable) he bought Christmas Wreaths’ from the Boy Scouts. I had to go an entire holiday season with an ugly, misshapen wreath, fastened by a tacky red felt bow. But, without question, this year’s purchase takes the cake.
I came home yesterday afternoon only to hear Scott in the kitchen, “I need your help right away, I bought something . . . “
Uh oh.
I thought perhaps he bought an improved air conditioning unit and needed my help to haul it into the spare room. But no . . . when I turned the corner into the kitchen, I found Scott with the freezer wide open. There on the ground was not one gigantic box of meat, but two. I am talking massive, gargantuan, need a fork-lift to transport, boxes of meat!
Evidently, a salesman stopped by with a “cannot pass this up” deal, and Scott bought it hook, line, and sinker. Does this come down to men being visual? I am sure if the salesman would have shown Scott cardboard images of the product, he may not have been so keen to take the plunge. But when he pulled out the beautiful, perfectly marbled slabs of steak and questioned Scott, “You do like meat, right?” all of his manly instincts kicked into high gear and had him clamoring for his checkbook.
Back to yesterday with the meat boxes strewn across the kitchen floor, I ask,
“So, where are we going to put all this?”
. . . 30 minutes later Scott returns from Home Depot with a deep freezer in the back of his truck.
So, there you have it--the retelling of my husband’s momentary lapse of reason, and how it put a large debit in our checking account.
What this means for you: you will be eating the cream de la cream of meat de la meat when we host summer BBQ in August. Lucky you, not so lucky me!
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