Rolling, Rolling Clothes Rack

It all began with a rolling clothes rack. My mother, once again, conned me into taking a carload of crap that was “really nice, wait ‘til you see it.” This is code for “I have limited storage space and no idea what to do with this junk.”

Luckily, I stopped the moving truck that was en route with an over-sized L-shaped, twenty-year-old, itchy sofa. When I told my family that “we’re getting a new couch!” it was my son who set me straight as he collapsed on our current couch and said “I HATE that thing!” That’s all it took to snap me back. What was I thinking? The same thing I’m always thinking when someone tries to peddle me their old furniture:

First, “hmmmm, we could really use a bigger couch [sewing machine, set of speakers, exercise bike …]” Second, I begin to feel righteous about reducing, reusing or recycling something. Finally: I announce to my family that we are “getting some new stuff!”

It is worth noting here that at this point, the recipient may feel a little triumphant about scoring the “goods”. But herein lies the classic con-artist maneuver: people don’t just hand over “goods.” Oversized suitcases and rolling clothes racks will outlive your entire family if you let them.

It’s like a bad cartoon: I’m left at the end of my driveway, a little bubble over my head with the words “Kablooey, she’s done it again!” Meanwhile, my mother is halfway back to Cambridge

I pull out the roll of canvas, rattling as it moves, unwrap it and discover that it looks very much like the rolling clothes rack I already have, except that this one, a generation older than mine, will soon be wearing a forest green dress. I stare at it, began inserting metal pipes into the rolling bottom shelf, and then break into a sweat as I realize that the pipes have to be inserted (jammed) into the designated holes at each corner of the “dress.” When complete, the whole ensemble stretches itself into a bad 1970’s camping tent. I know because I inherited three of them last time.

So now, I’m sweating and swatting at this hand-me-down prize, wondering how my day took this turn. It started out reasonably, with coffee, chatting with my children as they got ready for school, enjoying a peaceful walk in the woods with my dog, and suddenly, I’m involved in this rather violent skirmish with a hideous canvas clothes rack. The cruel twist? After its awkward assembly, I have nowhere to put it and nothing to put on it.

So I roll/drag/battle it out to the curb. Then, with the precision and determination of General Patton, I seize a lamp, a bag of blue streamers, some Christmas lights, a Pakistani rug, and three sets of galvanized rubber hooks, all “gifts” from my mother.

Kablooey. I’ve done it again.

Megan Davis Collins is in recovery for her recycling addiction. Email her at megdavcol@gmail.com