Junking at 65 MPH

I get so mad at my husband when he texts while he drives. I'm all..."If you want to play with your phone while you're driving, just do it when my children are not in the car...etc. blah, blah blah, etc." So I'm going to tell you this story, but only if you promise you will NEVER tell him. Promise?

So, I'm heading north on I-5 when this red truck passes me. Loaded up with junk. As it goes by, I see the cabinet...creamy white, fabulous shape.

I drive up next to the truck, roll down the window, honk my horn in a friendly but persistent manner and holler: "I HAVE TO HAVE THAT CABINET!" The guy hollers back; "FOLLOW ME TO THE NEXT EXIT." At the offramp, I can see the situation has become even more urgent....The cabinet has yellow (!) handles.

We end up by the side of the road...talking junk. Mike is a dealer, on his way to a weekend flea market. He tells me the cabinet is English...he's asking $200. Totally worth it, but a bit steep for me. Then I start pawing through the rest of the stuff...and spy a pile of old school room maps.

I decided on the ginormous one of the Pacific. We swapped cash for product like it was some sort of drug deal. School room map: $50. The story: Priceless. When my grandchildren ask me where I got the cool map, I'll say..."Well, I'll tell you the story, but you have to promise not to tell Grandpa...Promise?"