Every week we drove down highway 17 and passed a furniture store. Sitting outside, practically calling my name, was a small chest of drawers. Roughly waist height, dark brown, with six small drawers.
It was perfect.
Exactly what we needed.
Or at least that's how I saw it. Jason did not. Because every week, we would drive down highway 17 and he would speed past. I would look at him and pout. This went on for months. Then the worst possible thing imaginable happened. One Thursday afternoon, we drove down the highway, past the little furniture store...and the chest was gone. "They sold it! And they didn't sell it to me! How could they do that?! This all could have been avoided had YOU stopped one of these months!" My tantrum was not a moment I'd like to highlight or dwell on. Out it came from my mouth like a three year old child who was just refused a bag of cotton candy. And I LOVE cotton candy. I'm sure I pouted for a least a week.
However, just when I thought all hope was lost, Jason saved the day (sneaky guy, he knows just how to get into trouble and then out of it again). He delivered me a new chest. And a new project.
And so we sanded.
And sanded some more.
And then we stained.
And then it turned out more beautifully than I could have hoped for. Who would have thought my pouting and tantrum could have resulted in this??
