The English Maximalista

It is Friday, hurrah! September will be a busy month for us, so my final weekend of August is going to be a low-key one, spent at home with my lovely husband.

As much as I love entertaining house guests, or going away for a break, my favourite kind of weekend is when we are at home, just the two of us (plus the dog), with no set plans. Mr Maximalista and I both adore bumming around the house and garden, maybe popping out for a few hours to explore our new locale.

This past weekend was a quiet one. After a couple of errands, Mr M and I decided to take a different route home through an older district of Colorado Springs… and discovered a gorgeous, quite upscale neighbourhood.

We slowly drove up and down some beautiful avenues, ogling the massive homes, which looked divine despite the drizzle. As we drove along one particular avenue, I saw an interesting object at the curb*, and asked Mr Maximalista to pull over so I could investigate… but he just kept on driving! How rude!

[*Note to my non-American readers: putting your unwanted items at the front curb means that anyone can take them — for free! — on a first come, first served basis.]

“What?” He asked, bewildered, after I started wailing loudly as the pretty black bench we had just driven past got smaller and smaller in the passenger wing-mirror. “Did you expect me to do an emergency stop and a 3-point turn in the middle of the street?” Um, hello? YES!! It was a quiet residential road with zero traffic, so why not?

But he really did not understand the urgency of stopping to check out free furniture on the pavement. Also: does stopping at the breakneck speed of 15 MPH really qualify as an emergency stop?

My pre-Mr Maximalista life flashed before my eyes, as I thought of the HUNDREDS of times I have done this very same maneuver. Sometimes because there was a garage sale, or I had spied signage for a book sale at a library we were driving past, or maybe there was a pile of free stuff at the curb that required my closer inspection. I was confused. Doesn’t everybody pull a u-turn if there is a possibility of finding a bargain? Apparently not.

Mr Maximalista patiently explained his rationale, that the bench would STILL BE THERE whilst we drove around the block. My rebuttal — impatiently explained — was that it BLOODY WELL BETTER BE.

A dark threat was implied. Time stopped as I held my breath until we got back to where the bench had been. Would it still be there…?

Fortunately, all was well with the world, because the bench WAS still there, and long story short, it ended up in the back of Lady Penelope. Mr M was mortified. Garbage picking is a level he has never lowered himself to, and I know he was secretly wishing someone had gotten there before us. 

He expressed his deep concern to me about what people would think if they saw us picking up GARBAGE in our PORSCHE. The irony amused me. Sadly, his mortification fell upon deaf ears. 

This is because some Porsche owners have selective hearing, and don’t really care what strangers think of them. The bench went in the boot.

*****

Due to the way the bench was lodged in the back of my car, Mr M wasn’t able to drive, so he and I switched seats: now HE was the one held hostage in the passenger seat while I drove us home. In the end, we had a jolly good laugh on the way back to the house: my 6’ 4” husband was basically sitting with his chin on his knees, which was genuinely quite comical to us both.

His discomfort was worth it, though. Not only as his punishment for not pulling over when I bloody asked him to, but also because the bench looks amazing on our balcony. We both love it. It cleaned up really well, it’s a perfect fit, and on closer inspection it turned out to be even nicer quality than I initially realised: the curvy bits on the back are actually metal.

Anyway, all’s well that ends well. We have a lovely free bench. And we have another cute story to tell our friends.

Lots of love,

M xo