This is what my Thursday looked like. You know, just ANOTHER day of being a great friend to Sarah. This little set was at our local antique store/craft mall and was marked Holt Renfrew on the bottom. eBay provided no help on the value of this, but I’m sure Sarah finds it priceless.
Anyway, listen to this whale of a tale. Earlier in the day, Everett and I were riding our bike around town and rolled up on an estate sale in the neighborhood.
The sale was basically all garbage, EXCEPT inside a glass case at the checkout counter was a tiny box full of old miniatures. One of those miniatures happened to be Mickey Mouse, which, to Everett, is like spotting Lebron James in the wild.
[An aside: is Lebron James a good metaphor here? He seems culturally relevant at the moment. He’s also polarizing though. Ok, so maybe it was like spotting Santa Claus in the wild. Everyone loves Santa.]
So I begin to (not quietly) pronounce to Everett that yes he can hold the Mickey, and yes we can BUY THE MICKEY. Except the Mickey is in this large glass display case, and even though the back side of the case is open, I tell Everett that we cannot just reach our grubby mitts around the back and grab what we want. We have to patiently wait until the woman running the sale can retrieve the item out of the case, because WHY ELSE have it in a case at all!
Standing next to me was a woman also browsing the case. Like literally right next to me. Practically touching. I’d guess she was in her 40s and seemed relatively uninteresting other than the fact that she turned out to be the devil.
This woman proceeds to reach around the back of the case and pluck tiny Mickey out of his tiny box. All the while my child is TALKING LOUDLY about this tiny Mickey and about buying the mother-effing tiny Mickey.
I was stunned. When I turned to look at her shocked, the woman held up the tiny Mickey, giggled, and then exclaimed “Mickey Mouse!” Yes, you idiot, I’m aware who it is. And it’s mine, except that you’re holding it. I proceed to confusingly explain to the woman that we planned to buy that Mickey and that I was shocked she didn’t hear our loud conversation about it. She shrugged her shoulders and said “well sorry.”
Um, no you are not sorry. It was insane. This was literally like a piece of junk, plastic birthday cake Mickey. Nothing special. But this woman decided she must have it. And she did have it. She paid $1 for it, right in front of us.
The good news is that Everett wasn’t too devastated. I let him pick out a new item. He chose a digital kitchen timer. It cost 25 cents. He played with it literally all day.
-Erin