Surprise and Compromise

This weekend the Aggie surprised me with a trip to the tiny, arts town of Salado, Texas. This little village is situated on the Chisholm Trail and was a stagecoach stop for those traveling out West. The original stop is still in operation and is a popular bed and breakfast called the Stagecoach Inn. The Aggie took me there for a light lunch on Saturday and then we perused the shops for antiques, jewelry and art.

At the Stagecoach Restaurant, the wait staff dresses in pioneer garb and recites the daily menu to you just as they would have to the travelers stopping in 150 years ago. There is a pitcher of iced water already on the table (extra points for excessive us of Depression glass.) I had the cold salad plate, which included fruits, pickles, cheeses and chicken salad with tomatoes. Delicious! And the Aggie had beef stroganoff with mixed veggies. He said it was also very good. But the best part was the desert. Since we'd been saving out extra Weight Watchers points for this feast, we both had the peach cobbler. And let me tell you – it was worth the points.

After going through four or five shops and not buying a single thing, we opted to head back to Round Rock where we were visiting the Aggie's family for the weekend. It was by chance that we stopped in to more shops as we drove back toward the highway. The first store featured jewelry by Southwest artists. Since I've had a long fascination with turquoise, imagine my delight to fine a ring large enough to fit my pudgy fingers AND a matching oversized cross AND earrings to match. AND it was – are you sitting down – all 50 percent off!!!

I should have known it was going to be a glorious shopping experience when we parked next to a car with this bumper sticker:


Just went I thought things couldn't get any more delightful, the Aggie pulled me into one last shop, an antique store on the very end of strip. He was excited. Very excited. Which can only mean one thing: There is something sports, boobies or beer related that he wants. As it turned out, it was sports – precisely, an autographed George Brett jersey. At first I said no. Absolutely not. We just had six jerseys framed. There is not a single inch of wall space left in the Man Pit, so NO!

But then I saw IT – a turn of the century gossip bench. I swear I heard a chorus of angles singing. I could just see myself owning it. But NO! No, said the Aggie. We don't have another inch of floor space in which to put a piece of furniture. He was right. Offhand, I didn't know where we'd put it. Plus he'd just bought me $100 worth of turquoise. BUT, that was on SALE, I argued. Finally, when I didn't have a logical retort to his employment of my own tactics, I did what any woman would do. I pouted. A lot.

This is when the bargaining began. I could tell early on that the promise of soon-to-be-forgotten sexual favors wouldn't be enough to secure the bench. The shops owner came in during our little domestic squabble and clearly saw chaos that could be turned into an easy sale. So we brokered a deal of 25 percent off and now we are the proud owners of an olive-green, punch-upholstered gossip bench.

And a signed George Brett jersey.

~~~

P.S. Guess who got a new digital camera and ain't afraid of using it?