I was told that those lights were very expensive. Those lights made their way to a bag, that my husband meant to throw away, but forgot. Instead, that bag made it's way to the farm via his mother and then back again. We found them (after forgetting about them) in the garage and I thought to myself, "Self- let's sell those suckers."
Self went to the antique lighting store to discover it closed early for Veteran's Day, so Self headed next door to an antique store to see if she could tell me anything about them. While I waited, I perused the lovely china, the lights, and the pieces of furniture I could not afford, discreetly making my way back to the clearance bin. Lovely things in my price range, I poked around and found four packs of chocolate brown hemstitched linen napkins- each containing four. The oversized ones-- those ones that are like blankets when you are sitting at a fancy meal. I remember being a kid and eating dinner at the country club and wrapping myself in one of those suckers when I was freezing cold (or crazy sleepy).
No price tag.
Seriously? Then they must be free. My wheels turn. No, I didn't stick them down my shirt, even though they lacked theft-protection tags that Family Dollar uses. I round up the four packs of four and head to the front.
Dead pan. No laughing. No fear.
How much are these? They were in the clearance room.
She has to look it up. She's unsure the price of the packs, but they retail for $16.25 a napkin.
Yes, a napkin. - deadpan. This isn't her first rodeo.
Let the negotiating begin. Mentally, I crack my knuckles.
(don't laugh, Self. Don't laugh.)
She says, "How about $5 a napkin?"
I say, "How about $5 a pack." (holy my breath, count to 10)
She looks at me and asks, "Who do you get this from? Your mom or your dad?"
I look back, doe-eyed, "Get what from?"
"This," a wiggle of her finger, "This... negotiating, this bargaining, this-this."
"Oh, totally my dad," a pause. I wiggle my eyebrows and smile bringing the conversation back to these napkins, "How 'bout $10 a pack?"
She cocks her head and stops. Obviously, she too, is counting to 10.
(Don't. Laugh. Deadpan. Show no fear.)
A pause. "Yep. $10 a pack. They're out of your hair and I am gone."
SCHWING! Here's the cash.
"Your dad will be proud."
"My dad will give me high-five. My mother will crawl under the table and DIE when I tell her."
Turns out, those lights were not the valuable things we were told- they weren't even worth the $40 of the napkins- don't worry, I was totally willing to make a fair trade. They made their way back to the house, where they were stripped of the crystals and tossed in the trash. I never liked them anyway.
Coming up- hopefully tomorrow, but maybe next week-- the kitchen! Husband is sanding the backsplash right now and LMC is eating her breakfast next to power tools and amongst a lot of construction dust.