LAY FAUX TOY
"Corey, there are two…eu…eu…chairs, old ones! Nice ones! Well, I think they are nice. A person upstairs is throwing them away, the chairs are outside my office building; Should I bring them home?!" My husband says out of breath.
"What are they? Office chairs, we don’t really need office chairs?" Doubting my husband’s judgment I ask him to describe "the chairs" to me.
"They are very nice, big chairs, not office chairs. With green and yellow stripes, you know, les fauteuils!" Free or not, I had never before heard my husband excited about home furnishings, let alone junk on the side of the road!
"Armchairs? Lay-Faux-toy? Does that mean armchairs?" Quizzing him like mental pictionary.
"Harm-share? Oui, I "tink" fauteuils, is as you say, Harm-share!" I could see him smile over the phone. "Should I bring them home?"
I held the door open as he mounted to the seventh floor. At the top of the stairwell stood Monsieur Harm-share holding a miracle!
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