French Husband found this at the brocante.
He held it up like as if it were a prize, "Look at this cute little thing!" (He said in a baby voice, that I love and that he rarely uses.)
I acted like I didn't care.
I rolled my eyes,
I turned my back,
and said in a sarcastic voice said, "It looks like something the cat brought in? Doll, tell me it isn't a dried up piece of poop or a mouse… Is it?"
French Husband was caught off guard.
His Queen (that's me) of loving old, tattered, closer to the garbage can than to the queen's jewel box had failed him.
He said in a sad little voice, (Can you hear it? You know the sweet shocking surprised type of voice.)
"This was a loved, well worn, worthy little treasure, imagine the hands that had played with it."
I interrupted him, "You mean how many cats tortured it!"
"Oh Corey, it is so sweet, you gotta buy it," He pleaded in a flat-out serious grown-up voice.
Just as he was about to toss it back to the dealer, I grabbed it.
You gotta love a guy who thinks junk is golden, and a dried up mouse a jewel.
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