Voila!

Or as the spelling disabled say–Wah-lah!

The dead mouse under the stove has been evicted by Mr. Mary Kay. Boomerang Boy is off in the woods stalking deer, and when he returns he’ll be farmed out to spend the night at his best buddy’s house. Wyatt, better known around here as Mr. Barky Von Schnauzer has beens sternly warned about lounging on Boomerang Boy’s freshly-laundered coverlet. My punch list of last minute tasks has been reduced to one page.
So, this morning, after I finish making a shower curtain out of a vintage chenille bedspread for the upstairs bath, I am making a pilgrimage to the holiest of holy places for junkers–Scott’s Antique Market, with the other apostles, er, posse members, Jinx and Susie. Oh yes. I’m going to my happy place. Well, my other happy place. Number one happy place is Target. I was trying to explain this to a young male neighbor the other night. “I love Tar-jay,” I said. “It’s almost always open when I need it. It’s warm and bright. Everything glitters and beckons. Even the toilet brushes are stylish looking and beautifully merchandised. The bathrooms are clean, and I didn’t have to scrub them. They have coolers of cold Diet Coke at the entrance, they sell chocolate and they sometimes sell my books, along with the interior design magazines I crave–Country Home, Cottage Living, Mary Englebreit’s Home Companion, Veranda, like that.” He shrugged. Boys don’t get Target. At least, not most straight boys. Ah well. One of life’s imponderables.
Check out the AJC article and picks of the house!