gd armoire

Once upon a time, there was a lonely armoire. At one time, it had been loved and cherished, and had held hats and gloves and sweaters, but over the years it fell into disfavor and ended up in an unairconditioned leanto laundry room of an old house, stuffed with rags and the occasional rat dropping. Then, a kindly old woodworker saw it and took pity on it. He and his wife took it home. And then the kindly old wood worker took a closer look at it, and discovered there was a reason it was in the unairconditioned leanto laundry room-- it was not very well made. And the kindly old woodworker wanted to split it into kindling, or, in the alternative, throw it away. But his wife, who was not royalty, but was a royal pain in the ass, wanted to keep it, for sentiment's sake. And so they did. And for many years it lived in a rented storage shed. But the woodworker, who while kindly, was also thrifty, got tired of putting money in the storage shed owner's pocket. So he cleaned out the storage shed and tried to convince his wife to get rid of it. And there was much grinding and gnashing of teeth and the wife won, as wives usually do, and the armoire ended up in the kindly woodworker's wood shop, which was also unairconditioned.

And now the armoire was in a very sad state indeed, for it now held nothing and was constantly being cursed by the woodworker for taking up space in his shop.

But the woodworker and his wife had a daughter. And she was fabulous, and creative and beautiful and wonderful in every way. She was also great with child. Her second child, who would have no room or furniture of its own. And so in the hysteria that often accompanies women in this condition, and causes them to do completely irrational things such as getting spiral permanent waves; the daughter asked for the armoire, with the intention of making it look beautiful and shabby chic.

And so after more grinding and gnashing of teeth, the woodworker, who was slightly grumpy by this time, and his wife loaded up the armoire in his truck and drove from the countryside to the big city where the daughter lived.

The city was very hot and humid with highs in the mid 90s and the "feels like temperature" was 104 degrees. And the woodworker and his pregnant daughter put the armoire in the garage which was also unairconditioned. And then the woodworker and his daughter painted the armoire. They put five coats of paint on the armoire in the heat and humidity and unaircontionedness. And they began to curse the armoire. And the woodworker thought that the daughter's ideas were unreasonable and ridiculous, such as painting stripes on the back of it, and covering some of the insides with fabric and buying knobs from anthropologie instead of Lowes. But the woodworker was good humored when it came to his daughter--up to point.

And so it came to pass that they finished it. And they were somewhat pleased with their work. And then it came time to move it the upstairs guestroom, where the child would stay. But the daughter lived in an exceedingly ridiculous house that was built long ago and the stairs on her house were very small. The daughter's husband, who wisely stayed out of the armoire project, told the daughter she should measure it before she undertook the project to make sure it would go up the stairs. But while the daughter was beautiful and creative, she also very flippant of her husband's sage counsel. And so the daughter,who was very great with child indeed, the woodworker who had a bad back and knee, and the wife who was lame in a variety of ways attempted to move the armoire up the stirs and it did not work. There was much yelling. Much, much, much, yelling. And somewhere, in the heavens, the people who had put the armoire in the leanto were laughing. Cackling, actually.

But the daughter was exceedingly stubborn and argumentative and called moving companies. She lectured them about their ridiculous prices and safety policies regarding hoisting things through windows. Then a kindly receptionist took pity on her and whispered very quietly "call my husband."

And that is how the woodworker, his wife and their daughter met Prince Donnell. Who drove to the daughter's house and helped the woodworker shove the armoire though a window while the daughter waited upstairs and despite her delicate condition, pulled it the rest of the way inside. And the daughter wrote Prince Donnell a check for 40 dollars. Then they said good bye to Prince Donnell and waved as he drove off into the hot afternoon sun.

Then the daughter turned around and was amazed as her parents, including her aged and infirmed mother packed up their belongings with record speed and burnt rubber as they backed out of her driveway.

And then the armoire was happy.....