With regards to materialistic dreams, I have one of owning an MG car. Apparently B had a similar dream, one I only heard about recently. She had been dreaming of this yellow-wood dining room set for many years.
“Twenty five years is a silver anniversary gift, not a wooden one,” I countered. “I won’t find a silver dining room set anywhere.” I pretended not to have heard the yellow-wood part. It is often an advantage to have a hearing disability.
“A yellow-wood one would be so much less expensive,” she argued, inspecting her lack of nails. She’s a biter.
Even bearing her sharp teeth in mind, I firmly closed the conversation. “No.”
She said nothing more, but the following evenings were spent searching on her phone. I tried to see what she was looking at, but she turned the screen away and we respect each other’s privacy.
“This is what I was talking about.” This was a few evenings later. The phone was pushed under my nose and squinting, I could make out a square dining room table with 4 riempie (South African word for a leather thong or lace) seat chairs, yellow-wood, of course.
Pushing the screen away to have a better look, I had to squint at the price again. “Surely that’s not what it costs!”
“It’s a bargain! Just compare it to this one and this one!” The images flipped by in a blur. The prices were all I saw.
“But it’s my life’s dream! You will never have to buy me anything again, ever!” she whined, eyes pleading.
Uh-oh. Never and ever in the same sentence = trouble.
“We have a dining room set.” I tried to argue.
“Yes, but it is too big for when we go to a retirement home.” (That’s a topic for another post.)
“What do we do with the current one? You know second hand furniture does not have any value!”
“I’ll sell it, one way or the other.”
I sighed. I would have to give in sooner or later, I knew. And neither of us is getting any younger (although she has an 11 years advantage over me in the age department).
For the next couple of weeks she advertised the current set on an online classifieds site. I had to take a photo to post (“You are so much more clued up on technology that I am!”) and advertise it on the intranet site at work as well. (Yeah, I am a pushover. Rub it in.)
In the meantime she shopped for the new set. No problem, the furniture store I by now almost own through investing in their furniture, had the ideal set in their catalogue. But it still had to be manufactured in their factory. Of course she placed an order. Six to eight weeks to delivery, they said.
The ads ran and there were two interested buyers. Full of expectation, B watched them come and go. Either the table was too small or they did not have transport. I watched and saw her hopes fade and the light in her eyes flicker and die.
“The new set will be here shortly and then the old one will still be here!” she despaired. “There is no space for both!”
I rolled my eyes and said nothing. The die was cast.
“Then I will have to try second hand furniture shops,” she wailed.
I lifted my eyebrows and said nothing. She made her table, she had to eat from it (it’s my proverb!).
Two days later I came home to a home that looked way larger than it should have. I am the world’s arch non-observer, but even I could see the dining room set had gone. She had managed to sell it and the light in her eyes was back.
“So when are you expecting the new set?” I casually asked.
“Uhm, in about a month’s time.” The pooch and I shared a look, but said nothing.
It is now six weeks later and still beds and other surface have to serve as makeshift tables. Each week the entry to check on delivery gets transferred to the next week in her diary.
That set had better be made of silver when it arrives one day.