Shed or Coffin?

For this post, I ask you to time travel with me, to move through time, back to that place where my belly stuck straight out and my feet looked like marshmallows.   

After a long day at work and a grueling commute, Husband would draw me a bath and I would lower myself slowly into the water.  Bliss!  My belly would ripple with each little kick, I'd call for a glass of cool water, and I'd turn my attention to my favorite I'm-pregnant-in-the-bathtub-show: American Pickers.

And now: back to the present day.

Oh, I love old treasures and cute, old people.  It makes sense that I have an Archaeology degree and spend way too much time in antique stores, simply admiring dressers with broken drawers, but never actually buying anything.  

Last weekend, I talked my mom into stopping by an antique store on a lonely piece of highway, 15 minutes out from town.  It was quite lovely, with a surprising assortment of antique chairs (I have a thing for chairs) and baby books from the 1950s.  

Side note:  If your baby isn't having regular bowel movements over the toilet by 8 months (yep, 8 months), you should probably see a doctor and discuss any problems that would prevent toilet training.  

(Gotta love 1957!)

But the best part of the antique store was when a dude with torn-up jeans and a cigarette invited us to view his private picker shed.  Yes, he even referred to it as the "real American Pickers experience."

And how could I pass up an opportunity like that?!

I, Kieren, became an American Picker.

And here is what I saw:

Being a picker was a dream come true.  In addition to the pizza guy knowing my order by heart, I'd say I've lived a very fully life.

Though I failed to make any purchases, I did survive the ordeal, and I would be more than happy to point you in the direction of a few light fixtures.