For quite a while now I have wanted a big, shiny white vintage scale. I don’t know why, I just wanted one. So in the previous few nights while insomniating (my new made up word) of course I had to see if Craig had any vintage shiny white scales on his infamous list. BINGO!! I found 4 and one listing even threw in a smaller scale if I purchased the bigger scale. Sounds like a deal right? How can I pass on a ‘free” scale? I contacted all four of the listings just to be on the safe side; one in Strongsville, one in Canton, one in Columbus and one in Pittsburgh. Yep, I was willing to drive all the way to Pittsburgh for a scale if need be; after all, there’s an IKEA in Pittsburgh, right? I could kill two birds with one stone if need be and make the trip worth my while. As it just so happened, I was fortunate and didn’t need to drive all the way to Pittsburgh, sorry IKEA maybe next time. I opted for the locale with the “free” smaller scale in Canton. South of Canton to be exact. Well, as it turns out, I may as well have driven to Pittsburgh because I was on the road f o r e v e r. Getting there was no biggie; looked at the scales, fell in love, paid the fine lady, her man loaded them up for me and I was on my way. Sort of. Then came the white out. The flashers came on and so did my warning light telling me that I was dangerously low on washer fluid. Great. Oh and of course I had to go potty. Great, just damned great. Ended up pulling off the road for a while and thought I would wait it out. Nope…I have said it before and I’ll say it once again; Mother Nature is a bitch and she hates us all. So us folks heading north were all flashing and crawling….crawling and flashing. I was glad we were crawling though because up ahead there were seven and I ain’t lyin…seven cars and pick up trucks in the median. (They must not have crawled like us smarter winter drivers.) I took pictures to prove it. My vehicle is all wheel drive which is great, but it doesn’t help a damn when you can’t see two feet in front of you. About this time I’m starting to wonder if the beautiful white Dayton scale and the sweet smaller “free” scale were really worth this, were they worth risking my life over? You’re damn skippy they are! I finally made it to the shop where Arica was patiently waiting. What a day….but wait….it’s not over. After I closed the shop and headed home, it was STILL snowing and blowing and colder than hell. I remember when I was little I thought snow drifts were so pretty the way the wind pushed them into their unique shapes. No longer do I find them pretty. (Well, maybe when I’m safe in my warm house looking out.) Guess what. When I got home, my key would not unlock the door, I tried the front door….no go. Hmmm…did Gary change the locks while I was gone? Was he jealous of Craig and his “list”? Now if you remember….it’s cold outside and the snow is drifting and now I’m locked out and of course I have to pee. I am absolutely not peeing outside today, no peesicles for me thank you very much. That sense of doom that I had earlier while driving is beginning to return. Then I remember the hidden key. But I also wondered if we had returned the hidden key back to its hiding spot the last time it was used. I started digging through the snow like a dog….EUREKA! A key box with a shiny silver key inside. Phew. I made it inside, ran to the bathroom then stood on the furnace register for a short while to thaw. I then decided I was going to build myself a nice fire and sit next to it sipping an adult beverage. After all, I surely deserve it. Seems I’m not as good at building fires as I am at finding vintage scales. Drat. As you’ll see in the above photo, my fire making skills truly suck. I could never survive in the wilderness but I can weigh the hell out of firewood. After all, I have two new scales for which to weigh.
In closing, for those of you that are worried that I buy things off people I don’t know….don’t fret. Also in the above photo you’ll see my sweet raspberry Ruger pistol and you’ll also see a photo of a red dot. That red dot just happens to be the laser sight that keeps me from missing my target. The sweet little Ruger has a magazine loaded with hollow point bullets; those babies mean business! This handgun is cute and colorful, but it’s for real. Remind me some time to tell you the story of my father being a world record holder marksman. Yep, Stan still holds several world records and he just happened to be the person that taught me how to shoot. Come on Craigslist sellers, MAKE MY DAY! After a day like this I may not aim for your knee cap.