Why I don’t get to write the ad for Craig’s List

Midlife Sentence | Craigs List

For Sale: Large, rustic-looking headboard with a story.

Well, not really a story, story, as in: lovingly-hewn-of-ancient-willow-by-handsome-woodsman-for-his-beguiling-bride kind of story. Nothing so dramatic. There is a story, just a tad humbler. I’ll get to that in a minute.

Said headboard is a handmade item, with slight imperfections and irregularities, and I’ll be honest, it’s a bitch to dust. I think it’s willow, or some other bendable kind of wood with the bark left on, although I’m no expert. This is just to say that no ancient árbol actually gave its life for the thing. It’s likely from a perfectly modern tree that’s fairly common and easy to grow back and not in any way extraordinary.

So, you can forget any notion of its being infused with druid spirits or anything.

And who said anything about haunted, anyway? That’s just some silly idea I think one of the kids came up with. I mean, how can a headboard be haunted? True, it’s a little reminiscent of the structure in which those hippy island girls locked up their human sacrifices in The Wicker Man, but I’m not sure why that even has to come up, like, ever.

Nothing about this lovely piece of furniture could ever have that kind of legacy. The haunted kind, I mean, druid or otherwise. If you’re talking about furniture being imbued with some spirit of a past owner, you could take the beguiling bride from above and replace her with a slightly tipsy Gala auction attendee who has a tendency to anthropomorphize inanimate objects, particularly ascribing emotions like “lonely” to auction items such as a five-foot-tall handmade headboard that wasn’t getting a single bid. Our handsome woodsman would be the grouchy husband who had to remind our tipsy bride that they’d caught a ride to this shindig with friends who didn’t have a truck to transport the thing home when it turned out the tipsy bride’s bid was the only one on the page at the end of the night.

At the end of our tale, love prevailed and grouchy woodsman/husband was able to rally the next morning for his sweet bride – i.e. kick her out of bed so she could go pick the dang thing up herself and bring it home, where it has resided in the downstairs guest room for a good number of years before somebody thought it took up too much space and hauled it up to the garage and packed it back into the truck with a load of stuff to be donated.

… Which is how we found out that our local donation centers have enough hand-hewn, unpeeled willow, most assuredly unhaunted headboards, thank you very much, and they don’t need another. And how the thing is now sitting in our garage once again and a now even grouchier husband is willing to drive it anywhere in the vicinity for a small rehoming fee.

Or it’s free if you want to come pick it up.

Oh, and if you’re interested in a dusty antique steamer truck with a broken lock, we’ve got one of those too. That one’s definitely haunted, though. Same deal applies.

No calls please. DM me for details.

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