Magical March: Day 19

The hot lunch date was super good. Recharged our love batts, remembering dates from long ago, ate a sandwich together, uninterrupted conversation. Ok there was not much conversation during lunch because these were big sandwiches. And delish too. But it was fun hanging out, in the big shiny city.

And we did manage to capture our first date in a long time on film. Or photo paper at least. Matt and I used to routinely seek out photo booths during our courtship days (I love the word courtship and try and weave it into as much conversation as possible) and have collected loads of strips of photos this way. So we snuck into a booth and captured ourselves. Dodgy photo of photos, but you get the drill, capiche?

And you asked for more of the doily delights, perhaps I can do daily doily delights (or not, how much doily can you bear?). You know I counted over 80 doilies in that choc box, so you know, it could keep me blogging a lot more.

this one's my favourite. if i were a bride over again (fear not Matt, just thinking if we did our wedding again), I'd be working this baby into my dress somehow. heavenly deeelight!

One Might Think That One Might Give It A Rest

But one doesn't, does one?

Not even in the teeming rain, when I was thinking - sheesh, this might turn into hail - even when my windscreen wipers were going into overtime did I think, nah - I won't pull over. No siree.

Sensei says junking requires pure dedication. Sensei says even if you get rained on, even if the neighbours are staring, you still go junking if you want to hit the goods. Sensei says sometimes gloves are required.

But not today.

Coming home from one of life's most mundane shopping trips (bras, why can I never find a pretty/nursing bra in my size?) I took a couple of detours. I always go the back streets, and this is where I yield most goodies.

So today's prize may not look like much to you. But it is. Those coathangers are gold. I am mad for a vintage coathanger. One day I'll show you my most prized one. That box is going to house some of my collections. And that hat. That hat was worn by a high court judge (not that you care, but it's part of my little community), onceuponatimethankyouverymuch. Everything that has a story is worth getting out of the car in the rain and getting soaked for. Even when you're in a white top and you could consider getting down to your local pub for the wet t-shirt competition afterwards. Even then.

Someone Was Already There - Chronicles of a Garbage Bin

stool stylist's own

So when I arrived to see my beloved bin last night, I had come ill-prepared. I had forgotten my torch. I had a quick look at the bin but couldn't see anything by the dim moonlight, so I drove home and decided to wait an hour or so to darken up the night sky and go a little more incognito, and also to be a little more prepared. I jumped back in the car and drove* home.

When I got home my husband was surprised to see me empty-handed. I quickly explained that I did have to go back out, the deed was not yet done. I think he was secretly relieved when I returned empty-handed, those thoughts were quickly turned on their head.

At around 8:08pm I set out. Please note it's here that I feel all CSI-like, you have no idea how much this thrills me. Being a little more prepared I had packed some gloves and my torch. I could have taken a brush to take some prints off that bin and look for any epithelials. Get the feeling now I watch Grissom a little too closely? Hmm, if you knew that I called Sunday evening CSI Sunday you may be a little concerned. But you don't know that, so you don't have to worry.

When I got back to the bin - someone else was already there. I had just flipped open the lid and removed one black plastic garbage bag full of loot. I was about to reach in and retrieve a most fantastic 'Air India' suitcase when I saw him. I was more than a little startled. It was pitch dark. I had nothing more than my torch, a pair of latex gloves and my mobile in a pocket. For a moment I contemplated calling my husband. He was only two minutes away. I was feeling really, really anxious. I actually think I can say, that is a complete understatement. It was dark, there was just me, the garbage bin and him.

The biggest, fattest, hairiest huntsman ever. And then some. Eight hairy legs. Two beady eyes. Oh it just sends chills down my spine. And he wouldn't move.

If you're a long time reader of pottymouthmama you might already know that I am a little more than afraid of these. This week, we've already had one in our bedroom that Matt failed to evict, only for me to find hiding in the curtains the next day. Deeee-lightful.

Anyway. Fat huntsman. Me. Garbage bin. Suitcase. Metal things. Darkness. Can't see properly. I try and flick the huntsman off. Nope. Not budging. He was fat, seriously fat (probably a female). I really should be presented with a very large, very shiny bravery award. There was just no way I was leaving that suitcase for a spider. No way. So I flicked it a bit more* and then it finally retreated. To the other side of the suitcase. I grabbed the handle and threw the suitcase onto the footpath. I was about to pick up the suitcase and pop it into the car - when who should I spy right next to it? Yes, you guessed it - the fat hunstman.

By this stage I already had the garbage bag in the boot. I had torn it open to ensure I wasn't taking home someone's dentures, enema kits etc, and to my great surprise I found this cute little eggcup. Not that I use eggcups, but he's definitely cute - and has a very old David Jones sticker on his derriere. And the little pup with chipped off ears - dogfight anyone?


Once in the safety and light of my own home, I tore into the bag. I found this old cat clock - his eyes move - so cute. This little shelf that I've cleaned up, along with some vials of sand, an old Indian, this creepy little dolly in the bag - Laura Palmer?!
This little tribal doll. With real fur. Hmm. Must be pretty old the fur is disintegrating. Tasty.
If you fancy that little doll in the zip bag (a keyring!) please let me know. It's yours.

Who knew a bin could make someone so happy? Will it continue to rain gifts on me? Will the relationship with the bin last? Or is it just a fling? And just why did the people tossing all this stuff out ignore pottymouthmama's note she left in the mailbox? Find out next week when you tune into pottymouthmama.


* No spiders were harmed during the looting of this bin.