It is just an egg plate. We found it Saturday on our ride-around after going to Lincolnton, NC. It was at a second hand/antique/junk shop, depending on your outlook for the day.
I will give it a secondhand store designation. But it was a fine stop.
As many places down South, we happened upon it on a road going from here to nowhere in particular. Note: I most always capitalize the word South because I just feel like it.
We drove by as my head turned toward it, missing it by a good 50 feet.
“Oh, there’s a store,” I said to Nick.
“Does that mean you want me to turn around and go back?”
That is how it works. Very rarely do I see what is ahead until it is nearly behind me.
They had stuff out front … objects ‘d art … and treasures.
It looked small. Nick said he’d wait for me in the car.
I went in and as common in the South, a grandpa was sitting on a chair with a grandchild in his lap, a wife was behind the counter and other family members were scattered here and there.
It was larger than I thought … deeper. It was much better organized than James Taylor’s, that is high as cotton with clutter.
I walked down the main able toward the back, looking for something I must have. I am still looking for one more chair for my little tete-a-tete area.
There weren’t any chairs, just lots of “things”. Glassware, small appliances, gizmos, plates, and some toys.
As I had already bid my adieus, with a thank you very much, Nick walked in the door. He had changed his mind and he was going to give the place a look-see, too.
I was excited he came in. Treasure hunting is more fun with Nick … most of the time. Sometimes he gives me the , do we really need that line and I want to put him in the trunk. Ventilated, of course.
He walked to the back and I did too, this time with more of an eye for a treasure.
On the wall were three deviled egg plates. We don’t have one. It was one of the things we gave away before we left Ohio.
This one was ceramic and had a bit of yellow and green on it.
“We need an egg plate,” I said. Nick came and looked at me looking at it.
“Get it if you want it.”
Music to my ears.
Yes, I can buy things if I want them, without “permission,” but it is more fun to make it a communal purchase.
It didn’t have a price on it, but I didn’t think it would be too much.
I asked the man at the front of the store what the price was, He took the plate and tried to see what the scratched out price was.
“It looks like it was ten dollars but I’ll sell it for eight.”
“Ok,” I said, without bargaining. My cold was still in my voice and talking took too much energy.
Just before going out the door, I saw a couple of porcelain topped tables that I wasn’t sure if were for sale or just to display the stuff on them.
They were for sale.
I like porcelain topped tables. I don’t know why. I just do. Maybe it is that I like things that clean up well with Comet.
The one table had two sides that were hidden underneath and you pull them out and they pop up. The man called his brother over and said he needed help getting the table to work. So we watched them fuss a bit.
The price was $100.00. Do I need a porcelain table? That is open to debate and interpretation as to the definition of the word,”need” is. You know how much trouble the interpretation of a little word can cause.
The table has an interesting design on it, just simple, black graphic lines.
The brother said to the other brother, “What’s your best price?”
I said, “Yep, What’s your best price?”
The brother hemmed and hawed and mumbled, “85.”
I took a couple of photos and asked if the had a card because we had no clue where we were or if we’d find them, again.
Nick and I looked at each other and then both said, “We’ll think about it.”
In the back of the Prius was the chaise/ottoman.
“We’d have to come back,” Nick said.
I took the man’s card. I snapped a couple of pics of the table so I could remember what it looks like.
It was a fine stop. We got our must have egg plats. Deviled eggs are a Southern staple. (I capitalize Souther, too.)
We took our eggplant home, where I washed it and peeled off the Made in China sticker on the bottom. It is now on the counter, waiting a batch of deviled eggs.
We haven’t talked about the table.
But we’ll see.
Oh, and my friend, Sylvia, makes the best deviled eggs. And mine aren’t anything to sneeze at either.
On a good day.