Yesterday, That Girl and I went out on a walking and eating tour of one of the more quaint corners of our fair city, but goddammit if there wasn't heavy road construction running the entire length of the street.
Road crews were scraping off all the old asphalt, shoveling it into trucks, and spreading oil while their trucks belched clouds of noxious smoke and created such a racket that That Girl and I had to scream at each other to be heard.
"SHOULD -- CROSS THE STREET ---?" she screamed at me.
"SURE," I screamed back.
"LET'S GO ---- - ----- SO I --- STOP SCREAMING -- YOUR FACE," she screamed again, pointing at a store.
"YES," I screamed back.
Damn, it was loud.
I was so overwhelmed with the noise that I mostly forgot I had wanted it to be a photo walk. At least I remembered to take a few pictures along the way.
We walked into a makeshift greenhouse that was set up in a vacant lot, and I didn't think anything of taking pictures of some of the flowers. The older woman who was running the place obviously thought it was strange, though.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm taking pictures of your flowers," I said.
The next thing I knew, she was on the telephone.
"There's a woman in here taking pictures of my flowers," she said to the telephone and then paused. "No, I don't know why. She's just taking pictures of my flowers."
And then I realized that I'd accidentally set my camera to black-and-white.
That Girl and I wandered into this little store devoted to all things paper. That Girl, ever my best promoter, mentioned my Grace in Small Things social network to the store owner, T, and T thrilled at the concept. Aside from a handful of friends who know about it, this was the first time that I had had an opportunity to talk about it out loud and in person to someone new, and I found her thoughts and excitement about the concept exhilarating.
When I asked if I could take a picture of her baby Underwood and she hauled out a second vintage typewriter that she'd just scored at a garage sale, I fell into deep geek like. I swoon over vintage typewriters. SWOON.
The high must have carried over for a while, because, a short while later in a used book store, That Girl pointed out a wooden duck, and I was so moved by the sight of it that I immediately scooped it up and cradled it and stroked it all over and named it Desmond. It is the best $5 I have spent in recent history.
And then I abused a friend of mine for his truck, because I spontaneously dropped some money on a set of matching end tables and a coffee table. The Palinode and I have been married for just over eight years, and this is the first actual coffee table we've owned that I didn't build out of Scrabble boards and glue. I will show you the set later when I've actually moved them out of my apartment building's hallway and into our apartment.
It's about time for big people furniture, don't you think?