Dude, What is Your Problem?

Mother's Day was on Sunday. Due to scheduling and a few other factors, we were only able to spend Sunday celebrating with my Mom and family. For Ty's step-mom, we celebrated the occasion today. In preparation for the event, we went shopping last night for her Mother's Day gift.

Ty's step-mom, (henceforth to be known as MIL), is an antique junkie. Her whole house is filled with beautiful assorted antique items. She has really good taste, too. So for birthdays and other gift-giving situations, we will go to various antique shops and find something to add to her collection. Last night was no exception. However, when we went to the local antique shop that we had in mind, they were closed. (Oddly enough they are ONLY open on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Yeah, I don't get it either.)

Anyway, since our first choice was not an option, we moved on. We went to a different place that we'd never been to before. It was a tiny little shop, inside one of those old houses. Ty asked me if I wanted to come inside, or wait in the van with the chiddlers. I wanted to help him choose a gift, so I opted to come inside. Ty went in first, and I came in a second later with the chiddlers. CT was given VERY strict instructions to keep his hands in his pockets and touch nothing. AJ was in my arms, and I held onto her hands to prevent any toddler-caused catastrophes.

The first thing I noticed as I walked inside the shop was how painfully CROWDED the place was. There was no room to walk around at all. And on every display was a hand-written sign: "Do Not Touch".

EXCUSE ME?!?!?

Exactly HOW am I supposed to avoid touching ANYTHING when EVERYTHING is practically falling in on me? What kind of shoddy set up is this, anyway? I've been in a lot of antique shops, and while every one of them have been filled to the rafters with antiques, only certain items are marked "Do Not Touch" and everything is far more comfortably arranged. I was terribly UN-comfortable the moment I stepped inside that poorly organized, overly crowded broom closet.

Adding to my discomfort was the sudden sight of the proprietor of the "store" (I'm still not convinced that the place actually WAS a store. I'll explain why later.) The guy was old, scraggly-looking, and gave me a scowl that would have made Ebeneezer Scrooge (pre-ghosts) stop in his tracks.

Anyway, I looked around the place, finding a few small items that might interest the MIL. I kept my hand on AJ's still holding her tightly against me. I watched CT like a hawk, making sure he kept his hands in his pockets and touched nothing. Guess what? Those kids, as usual, were astonishingly well-behaved. They never fail to impress me with their ability to contain themselves when the situation calls for it. They knew this place was an accident waiting to happen, and they were both doing their part to avoid being the cause of that accident.

One of the interesting items I found was a set of salt and pepper shakers. They were small, shaped like little windmills, and resting in their own little tray. They were adorable. I pointed them out to Ty, who was interested enough to open the little cupboard they were in and look at the price.

As though he'd been waiting for something to happen, the Glaring Guy at the Counter suddenly appeared around the corner and said: "Let's not touch anything now. The signs say 'Do Not Touch' for a reason, and if you can't control your kids you can just shop somewhere else."

Can't control our kids? What exactly were they doing except quietly staying close to their parents and not touching anything?

I mean, in any other antique shop, the proprietor of the store would have just come over and said: "Is there something I can help you with?" But no, this guy decides to descend upon us like some creepy old bat and tell us to control our already well-controlled kids or leave.

I don't think he expected Ty's reaction, who simply said in a calm voice: "Okay. Candice, let's go."

This pissed the guy off even more, because as we were leaving, he followed close behind Ty, and said in a low, threatening voice: "Get outta here." Seriously? Okay then.

But, as I mentioned before, I'm pretty sure this wasn't actually a store.

The haphazard, disorganized way the place was arranged, the cramped aisles that are clearly not meant to be used by humans, and the insistence that NO ONE TOUCH ANYTHING has made me wonder.

After wondering for a while, I have decided that I can't be angry at this guy.

He's clearly a hoarder. He probably lives underneath the counter at that place and just uses the "Antique Store" as a cover-up for his problem. That's why he keeps things so crowded in there, and why it's so imperative that NO ONE touch his stuff. It also explains why he's so antisocial and would rather kick paying customers out of the store than sell any of his precious, carefully hoarded stuff.

Poor, crabby old guy. I feel for ya. So much so, that from now on, I'll make sure that all of my family and friends will stay well away from you and your "store." One day, you may find the courage to admit you have a problem and get some help, but until then, good luck.

Don't worry. I'm sure you won't have to say goodbye to any of your stuff anytime soon. You seem to have a pretty effective system worked out to prevent that from ever happening.