My friend and her very tall charming spouse spent their anniversary treasure hunting in the junk shops and thrift stores across town. I almost fell over when she told me that.
He thrifts with you? I asked. Like, willingly? On a fall weekend? You don't have to bribe him with sexual favors? Does he actually look for stuff? Or does he just lurk and grimace and check the time and the football score whenever he thinks you're not looking.
No, he likes it, she said. He thinks it's fun. And look what we scored. (Hodgepodge of mid century cool objects.)
I was telling the (tall, but not that tall) Man who lives in my house about this. I was excited! I had a proposal:
I think we should swap dates, I explained. Like I will go to a football game with you, and I will get my rah rah on. I will pay attention and jump up and down. I will try to follow the action. I will ask questions and strive for understanding. I will give a shit about a bunch of grown men fighting in a ritualized manner for many hours over a ball. Then when it's my turn, you could go to an estate sale and a couple of thrift shops with me one weekend afternoon. You could pretend to be really into it, and take pictures of the ugly lamps. You could dig around in the basement and the garage for tools. Maybe we'd find a rad polyester tuxedo in a 44 long--that would be the ultimate! It could happen! We would have a blast!
The Man gave me what our friend Linda calls the "curious dog" look: head tilted, brows furrowed. Did you say you'd get your rah rah on? You can't even keep track of the score when it's your kids' game. You have no inner cheerleader. What you have is an inner librarian/bag lady. We need to just stick with going to the movies.
He may have a point. I think it's my turn to pick the movie. I'm feeling like a Merchant-Ivory costume drama is in order...
(It should be noted: My friend also actually likes football, so maybe she earned a thrift enthusiast-spouse, karmically speaking.)