“Mable?” I ask hesitantly.
“What? We need furniture and it needs to fit the house. The New York stuff is too stuffy, it’s not fun,” she shrugs. Well, who can argue with that? She’s right too. That sweet blue house needs comfy furniture you’re not afraid to live with.
“Okay,” I say, because what else can you do?
“Now, go pick out a bedroom set for yourself. Chop chop!” Aunt Mable claps and then shoves me in the direction of a bunch of bedroom suites set up in the back of the store.
“Okay. Okay!” I shout as I run to pick out a beautiful white iron bed with an interwoven headboard, a large white dresser and matching night stands, and a mirror.
“I need all of these things and new mattresses and pillows, the best only, sent to this address in two hours,” Mable tells the girl handing over a black credit card. Damn, it must be good to be a gangster. “Let’s go! We have keys to pick up,” she shouts.
We retrace our path back down the main street to a small real-estate office where Aunt Mable signs a few more papers but her accountant slash man Friday, did most of it for her at an alarming rate before we’re handed sets of keys.
We again, retrace our steps back to the little blue craftsman with the gorgeous yard just in time to receive our household of furniture. Once again, Aunt Mable whipped out her cellphone and a short time later, we were enjoying pizza and lemonade on our new round, antique white kitchen table with ornate legs, matching chairs and china hutch. Who needs a suitcase when tonight I’m sleeping in a new bed and in a few days’ time, I will start a new job. Mable was right, this new adventure is off to a great start.
