I consolidated my two storage units into one. That meant less space. So...I donated some stuff to a local charity for their auction and then I had to get crafty with my limited square footage.
I have a lot of artwork. I went to talk to Barry, the supervisor at my storage unit. Love him. I asked Barry, "Can I hang pictures?" From the look on his face I knew that I had crossed the line. I was embarassed. This wasn't the Barry I knew. The Barry that gave my kids unlimited mint pinwheel candies...even after I said that was enough. Twice. The Barry that chopped my lock off. No questions asked. I now wished that I could eat my words. Hang pictures. Jesus. What was wrong with me?
No expression was betrayed through those Scotch stained cheeks. Smugly and flatly he said, "Hang pictures?"
I thought...you know, I'm sorry. I thought we were friends. I get it. No pictures. I sheepishly tried to hide my decoupage hammer behind my designer jeans. Jeesh. Pristine particle board walls. That's a look. Somewhere.
Then Barry's lips parted...just a bit...and a smile rolled right out of those red cheeks. He said, "Nobody has ever asked me that before. Sure."
Think I'm nuts? When I was leaving somebody was bringing in a PLANT.