when decorating becomes dangerous

they crouch in the dark, dusty corners of the backs of shelves.


they lie in ambush of their next clueless clod.


when these culprits cross the line, the time will come
when you're time is up, too.

you're the next victim of their heinous hit.

they lure you in with the promise of polite procurement,
but i'm telling you, it comes with a price.

they play this game with you and with me, their gullible prospects.
you believe that you are the super shopper,
but you are being set up.
you are the sitting duck.

they camouflage their carnage with names like:
good and will.
miracle and hill.
habitat and humanity.
hobby and lobby.
salvation and army.
(see? slews of them are proclaiming to be your savior).


 these goodies grab us with guarantees of good value. 
their gimmick? 


brightly-colored price stickers.

hand-written inticements.

 who can say what will make them snap?

who can tell what will trigger their temper?

(even the anthropolgie lamp i hope to make a knock-off of with the teapots above,
has the name "one lump or two")

($12.50)

[et tu, rachel?]

oh, innocent ones...
please heed my warning.
ponder my pleas.


these bargains become brutal.
you cannot tame these treasures.

how do i know?


i became one of the latest martyrs in the name of thrift store shopping.

on or around the morning 
of the last day of this month of january,
clueless, i approached this harmless, lifeless nightstand.


in need of a facelift, and nothing more,
clearly enamoured, i blindly appraised its worth.


i tore the bottom of the tag and triumphed my way to the checkout register.
but, at what cost did i acquire it?

it was loaded into my cr-v by a jovial, yet shrimp of a fellow,
barely grown into his manhood.
the trunk door was slammed.
my fate was sealed.
he bid me adieu with a wily wave.


on its ride home with me, i heard nary a peep from it,
ne'er a hint of what was to befall me.


i misjudged it.


once we were alone, this plain broyhill became brutal.


upon the loosening of the latch and the lifting of the window,
once the car had been backed into the garage,
and armed with the knowledge that i have had much experience transporting
treasures much more substantial than mr. broyhill,
i leaned in to extract my find and with all the strength i could muster,
i yanked on mr. brutal broyhill,
and he attacked me!!
he snarled and bit my wrist!!
twisted it this-a-way and that-a-way!


i have evidence, people.
cold, hard, immovable fingers facts.
a doctor visit and 8 x-rays later,
i am told i have a severe sprain and must keep my wrist still for three weeks.

my loving friends, however much it pains me to alert you 
(though 50 mg. of tramadol 4x a day sure can ease the ache), 
that such atrocities can and do occur in this world,
it has pained me immeasurably more, as a writer, to type this whole post in lower case letters 
because i cannot use the shift key with my left hand.




my advice is always be looking over your shoulder,
better yet, bring a shopping buddy along to watch your back.
have your husband or a helper to hoist your treasure to its new locale.


or you could be next.

care to spend the night in our guest room?!

.

p.s. i realize there will be some readers of this public service announcement that will remember the last time I was attacked in my own home. For those of you that don't know the sordid details, click here, if you dare.
p.p.s. i need some guest posters--email me if you'd like the job. email link at the top right under my blog header...thank you!!