I live a pretty sreamlined life, but once in a while I go a little crazy over something specific. For one week I went beserk over a pair of yellow driving shoes that I couldn't afford (see http://joyblogstotheworld.blogspot.com/2008/10/joy-ride.html). A few months later I found a knock-off pair for $15, but by then I was over my lust for golden suede, so I didn't bother.
A few months ago I was looking through a design book and I saw a vintage fan. You know, the kind they don't make anymore because of the risk of decapitation? They're so rad. I obsessed over them and went to all of my local thrift stores, but the only ones I found were online and over $75. I gave up in hopes that I would jinx it, the way you stop looking for love and then immediately meet the man of your dreams.
But it wasn't until I completely forgot about the fan that it showed up yesterday at the Salvation Army. It was in perfect vintage condition, which is to say that it's not so perfect that it looks like it came from Urban Outfitters. I stood there under the harsh white lights, surrounded by a bunch of crappy floral prints in even crappier (word?) frames, with Celine crooning "It's all coming back to me" over the radio. (Actually, I can't remember if that song was actually on the radio, or if she just started singing in my head.) It was $29.99, which is about $15 more than the price tag attached the the fan of my dreams. I tried to get it for less (isn't it fun to haggle with charity?) but I bought it for $29.99. Which, if you want to justify it, isn't any more expensive than a new fan. Pete said the exact same thing in utter confusion when I came home toting an old fan in the middle of February.
After I explained the fan, after I put the fan in three different places before determining it's location on top of the fridge, and after I sat and stared and sighed at the fan, Pete said, "Do you know how much I love to see you happy?" I turned and stared and sighed at him. "I do. And do you know how much happier you make me than a fan?" He said that he did. I sat and stared and sighed at it some more, then said, "I hope I don't chop my fingers off in that thing." Pete didn't look up from the computer.
"Of course you will, darling."