Me: Hey! This rug’s cool!
Chris: What are you doing? (peers around corner)
Me: Just looking at this rug…
Chris: Honey, no more rugs. We’ve been to four Targets. You’ve seen all the rugs.
Chris and I haven’t done a single thing to our place since he officially moved in last year after the stroke. To be honest I just didn’t really care and it wasn’t a priority. Who cares about how things look when you think you might die?
But then tax season.
That glorious time when I decide that anything other than sorting through bags of receipts is a priority. What was that neighbor, you needed me to take out your garbage? No problem. Let me put down these papers and get right on it. Um, yeah.
Last week, while avoiding the closet where all the papers are piled up, I found a picture of an insanely cool lake house on Pinterest and decided it was time to try and figure something out in here. Of course. Now let me take a moment and point out that procrastination’s evil twin is a beyotch named Target. In the past year I haven’t stepped foot in there more than a handful of times for anything other than toilet paper or crayons. Between the Missoni debacle (no I won’t let it die because that bike was in my cart when the site crashed just as I was entering my credit card number) and them opting to carry the Rolling Stone with the Boston Marathon bomber on the cover I’ve been pretty much done.
But then tax season.
When faced with the options of a day spent rifling through receipts vs. a day spent rifling around the nursery for plants, I am not insane and will opt for the latter. And when that trip to the nursery only takes up 2 hours, you can bet your ass I’m going to find a way to end up in Target looking for cheap pots for the new plants.
Hi, why am I in the rugs?
Honestly Chris it’ll just take a minute, I’m sure there’s nothing here we’d want. Wait. Hi rug, you look like you could work. What’s that? There’s only one and we need three. Thus commences a FOUR HOUR MARATHON of driving from Target to Target to round up two more rugs…+ two pairs of sandals, two wicker stools, a picture frame and bottle of water. What can I say? We were as dehydrated as all the lawns in Garden Grove by the time it was over.
But that’s one sweet rug (to organize all the taxes on):