Being Cursed From Kansas

Over 2.5 years ago, our friend, Madame Home Depot, came and helped Hubster and I do some renovation work around the house. She spent hours stuffing insulation around the attic, caulking the shower in the bathroom, building shelves, and even changing the odd nappy or two.

All she ever wanted in return was for us to send her one of these:

Yes, it's a drying rack. And for some strange reason, she can't find one like it in the US.

Now, I should be super sensitive to that whole, "not finding what I really want" thing after living here for so long, so you'd think I'd be a bit more willing to help her get one. After all, she's hauled peanut butter, cake mix, cloth nappies, and chocolate across the ocean for me, the least I can do is get her a drying rack.

But the truth is, I'm lazy and the thought of trying to figure how on earth I'm gonna pack that sucker up and send it to Kansas leaves me shaking. If only there was a Mail Boxes Etc near by, but alas, this is France. And there's not. Just me, a roll of duct tape, and not enough cardboard. Hence, why she still hasn't gotten one.

But Madame Home Depot has friends in high places it seems. My very own clothes rack like this one gave up the ghost the other day. Just one gust of wind too many and a very curious husky has now reduced it to a strange pile of metal. Which means, I need to get another one.

Enter Catholic guilt.

I could just buy one for us and let it go at that, praying that she'll buy one for herself the next time we haul her tookus over here (hopefully this spring) or I could finally do the right thing and get one for her and actually send it over the pond.

I know, I know. I need to stop being so lazy and just get off my bum, buy her a drying rack, slap some tape on it, and send it.

There will be a little perverse joy for me in that whole scenario though. Can you just see Miss Snootie's face when I finally haul that thing into the post office?