i am thinking after the past few days we perhaps feel a little better about our addicted collecting ways.
knowing we are not alone in our 'need' to go forth, finding all sorts of waifs and strays to bring back to our nests is rather comforting.
and just as they say,
(once again wondering who 'they' are and why 'they' say it,)
i feel the old saying "someone is always worse off than yourself" is really rather true in this case. i feel my addiction to stools, chairs, tea trays, brightly colored saucepans, sugar and creamer sets, nesting dolls, yarn, doilies, vintage fabric, mid century anything and clogs, appears to be quite normal.
i actually feel rather lacking in quantity compared to many others, wondering if indeed i qualify to be called an addictive confessor at all.
so with all that waffle being said, i think it time to pick a winner.
but alas dearest readers,
i have pondered,
i have paced
and
i have fretted
as to how a winner may be picked.
how does one better
or
i fear my 'winner picking' ways reached an all time heady height with Greta and her death defying leap.
and so it came to be this morning as i sat upon the floor with little olive, still dressed in pyjamas (little olive dressed in her collar but no pyjamas, she prefers to go 'as is')
i was 'a fretting' to my man about the enormity of the occasion and what lay ahead for one addicted confessor upon my blog...
but alas and alack, i was without inspiration as to picking that addicted confessor.
and then it happened,
a happening to out do all happenings,
to ever have happened at Mossy Shed!
there was a knock...
i, little olive and used dog pottered to the door
me in my pyjamas
little olive in her collar
and
used dog in her spiffy neckerchief.
upon opening the door,
the angels up above started to chorus
and
glory shone all around the shed.
as the dazzling light before me began to dull it all became clear,
for upon our doorstep,
as handsome as handsome can be
was none other than
thee Colin Firth
"hello" he said quite casually and with a tone of intimacy, i noted
"i was just in the neighborhood, thought i would drop by... thing is, i googled my name the other day and dottie angel popped up. it appears you have a lot to say about me. i'm working on meeting my fans and getting to know them a little. so here i am"
suddenly i was very aware of my 'night attire' and not pretty 'night attire' but old bag lady 'night attire' that was in no way helping aid a youthful fresh 'come hither' look.
my man called from the depths of the shed "who is it Tif?" whilst watching the Rugby...
the intimate moment of 'Colin and me' immediately crumbling.
the intimate moment of 'Colin and me' immediately crumbling.
with my night attire, a man already in residence and several children milling around i knew the hopes of a 'mysterious, beautiful, eclectic woman of a certain age' getting together with Colin Firth for one brief moment in time, was lost.
but before you hang your heads dearest readers and weep for my lost opportunity with Colin.
it would appear all was not lost,
for somewhere out of nowhere a thought appeared...
a thought that made me think,
just how wonderful it would be to have a celebrity such as Colin to pick a winner,
surely that was indeed a grand idea, perhaps one of my grandest yet.
and so it came to be,
one saturday morning in a mossy shed near Seattle
Colin Firth picked a winner for my 'ordinary extraordinaries' giveaway
i noted upon his picking, that he did indeed have very youthful hands
he told me the secrets of his handcream and i immediately wrote it on a scrap of paper, knowing my gnarly paws would benefit greatly from Colin's wisdom
Colin was not only handsome and generous in his time, but he had humor as well, something i admired greatly in those few stolen moments we shared together.
when he insisted on sticking the winner upon his forehead, who was i to disagree...
then he was gone, up the road to my friend Trish's house. after admiring my chickens i told him of her addictive collecting of feathered friends and so he thought it rather nice to pay her a visit too.
i have spent the rest of the day in my pyjamas, claiming to my man i will never ever wash them again,
for i do recall,
in fact i am quite positively sure,
that for one brief moment in time, Colin Firth touched the sleeve of my granny cardigan (masquerading as a dressing gown) and apart from not washing it, i am very close to 'framing it'...
and so dearest readers, we have a winner, a winner picked by Colin Firth no less
and that winner is
My name is Kat and I am a shoe-aholic. It has been 6 hours since my last purchase.
It has only just occured to me that I have a problem, but as you suggested, I have just looked around my house and noticed that I have AT LEAST 15 pairs in each room (we have 9 rooms) there is also an ever growing pile at the bottom of the stairs. I have 40 (full) show boxes at the back of my walk in wardrobe. I have a couple of pairs in my office at work. I have 3 pairs in my car boot. A few pairs at my mums house. I have heels, flats, wedges, stilettos, sandals, flip flops, LOTS of boots (including my latest lovlies which are furry lined with toggles up the sides!), wellies, slippers - lots of slippers, trainers. Black ones, red ones, blue ones, pink ones, shiny ones, sparkly ones... oh god, I'm feeling the need to buy more, I've got myself all excited!
So, yes, I'm Kat and I am most definitely a shoe-aholic. I also collect buttons. I have some shoes with buttons on.
congratulations to you Kat, my dearest addictive collector of the bestest kind, i think it is a win most deserved!
this little vignette of vintage goodness will be winging it's way to you...
and now i must away
to recline upon my couch,
reflecting upon the day
Colin Firth came to play at Mossy Shed
she will be back on Monday with tales of little olive her hopes and her dreams ~ Tif