The Ugly Duckling

Never mind stray dogs and injured kittens.  Look what I drug home today.

I know.  Aesthetically speaking, it’s obnoxious.  It’s ugly.  And it’s horrid.

But our pastor was releasing some of his desk furnishings this morning, in a push to update his office.

Desk furnishings, circa 1974.

And I, a confessed stalker of home decorating blogs, had already purposed in my heart to find a dresser that I could (gasp!) sand down and paint at some point in the future, with the sole purpose of turning it into an entertainment center for our small TV.

The second TV in our house.  The one that the poor boy is shoved toward whenever the Avalanche play some hockey (EVERY! NIGHT! THREE TIMES A NIGHT!  OR SO IT SEEMS!), and Hubs takes over the big screen in the family room.

I had already decided, in my heart, that I’d find the dresser I wanted at a garage sale, which I wouldn’t go to.  I never go to garage sales.  The three that I’ve been to in my life have presented me with a display of items that I do not need, and I’ve used those three garage sales to base my entire theory that they’re all out to sell me junk.  And yet, I had pre-planned to score a long, low dresser from just such a sale.

And then, lo!  The angel of the Lord shown some light upon this ancient credenza today, which was probably quite popular at the same time girls everywhere were swooning over Shaun Cassidy.

(I may have been one of those girls.)

And Pastor John said, “I am taking this credenza to the Salvation Army, in hopes that it can find a good home.”

The words which I heard Pastor John speak were, “Free!  Free!  This old credenza is FREE, and wouldn’t it be a fine weekend project for someone to sand down and paint and repurpose as an entertainment center for a small TV?”

And so it came to pass that Hubs was recruited to help unload the bulky beast, as I made promises that YES!  YES, I REALLY WOULD BEGIN SANDING IT THIS VERY WEEKEND, WITH THE SOLE INTENTION TO HAVE IT DONE VERY, VERY SOON!

But, people, let’s face it.  I nearly hyperventilate whenever the word craft is spoken near my range of hearing.  And craft, when combined with project, becomes a  phrase that makes me yearn for the smelling salts.  Ask Cody.  She was with me on my very first trip  into a Hobby Lobby, when we visited Bigger Town, USA together.  I boldly told her, “I want to create a floral bouquet, made out of silk flowers,” and she was game to help me, because she laughs in the face of the term craft project, and she’s brave enough to gird herself with weapons to see the craft project carried out, in a timely manner.  Six minutes into the selection of silk flowers, as Cody was holding up different stems and different colors and different phyla of artificial plant glory, I hit my This-Used-T0-Be-a-Good-Idea wall, and I nearly collapsed with a full-on, Gone-With-the-Wind-style, worthy-of-a-nomination-from-the-Academy faint.  I looked at Cody with glassy eyes and said, “I can’t do it.  I am overwhelmed.  I need to get out of here and hit a Starbucks.  Now.”

Cody mumbled something beneath her breath, which sounded similar to, “Well there went six minutes of my life that I’ll never get back.”  And then she pasted a smile onto her face, and took me to Starbucks, where I ordered my very first iced chai and proclaimed it garbage, on account of HORRIBLE!!  And then I spent the next ten minutes bemoaning the simple fact that I had wasted hard-earned, backed-with-gold, American dollars on the worst drink of my entire life.

(I sometimes worry that maintaining me as a friend requires a lot of patience.)

But really, I am a bit worried that when the boy goes through our house, emptying it of everything after he’s put Hubs and me into a nursing home (and hopefully it’s a nursing home with a varsity shuffleboard team, because I do have some athletic goals in mind for my advanced years), he’ll find the credenza, circa 1974, stuffed into a remote corner of the basement with a sticky note stuck to it which reads, “BURN.”

Because really?  Sometimes I get hit so hard with the hot flashes of craft projects, I just want to light a match to them and be done.

And then I don’t finish them.

And they get shoved into a corner, along with my Good Intentions of Finishing Them.

So that, people, is why I have plastered the picture of my new credenza (Did I tell you?  From 1974?) on the World Wide Web, via the blog.  Because, in two weeks, I want y’all to ask me, “So, Mama, how’s that little craft project going?”  And I, not wanting to be one who will face the public shame of admitting, “Well, it’s in the back of the basement with a burn notice attached to it,” will hopefully be able to take a picture of my new, swanky, painted-and-updated-with-brand-new-hardware entertainment center and say, “See for yourselves!  Craft Project #4 of my entire life is OFFICIALLY FINISHED!”

I’m thinking a shade of gray for the paint.

What do y’all think?

Hubs?  He’s fully in favor of gray, because gray is in his color wheel of shades he’ll wear, as his entire closet is full of light gray, medium gray, and dark gray shirts.  And also black and navy shirts.  And a couple of blue-and-orange shirts, in honor of the Denver Broncos.

Wish me luck, people.

Or at least provide me with the paper bag I need to breathe into, when I start hyperventilating.

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