The freakish incident of the yellow sheet and the pink cot

So with a vigorous attempt to declutter the house I have been avoiding the oppies for the last month. I think I was having withdrawels though, so it was time for a quick forage. I have become much more selective in my acquisitions it seems, as I came home with quite a small selection.

Much of my milkglass has been packed away carefully, this pile was stacked in the cupboard after Liongirl's birthday. Reminds me of a wedding cake, or perhaps a fountain. The flower plate at the bottom is new, not milkglass, maybe pyrex.

 The candle holder on the top of the pile was from a recent jaunt away, a rather lovely find for $1.50.

I'm not usually swept up by figurines, but these did move me for some reason. Maybe it's the withdrawels.

There are some vintage sheets, still drying unfortunately. Except for this yellow one, which I wasn't even sure about buying as yellow is not my favourite colour. But try as I might, I could not leave this one behind. It all made sense when my mum turned up and did a double take when she saw it in the washing pile. Seems it was the exact sheet on her bed for most of my childhood. It all came rushing back as soon as she told me. Mildly freakish.

The truly, truly freakish incident has a slight back story. I have a bit of a thing for old wooden toy cots. The little dolly ones hand made by doting grandfathers. Just a few days ago, while he was still high on the spoils of his last gumtree sale, Legoman asked me what was the plan for the cots. I think there were four at that stage. Three were in use in miss Liongirls doll hospital and one was in the granny flat awaiting a paint job. All of them were thrifted and probably cost me a total of $20 for the lot. One is white with a tester to hold a canopy, one is a dusky pink and has gorgeous vintage decals, one is ophanage lilac and is a rocking cradle and one is a  two story lemon number. I fobbed him off with some vague conversation involving me possibly having a shop selling vintage toy cots and clothes one day and he let it go. In short, he was on to me and I would need to guard those cots with my life or they would be next.

The next day I happened to be sauntering down to the Woolloongabba Antique Centre (having secured myself an hour or two of childfree time) when I noticed a truck pulled up across the road. It was a skip truck and there was something pink peeking out the top of the load. The pink something looked a little like this.

My vintage-cot-retinal-scanning-template assessed this as a probable match and I paused for about a nanosecond before running across the road to accost the driver. Yes indeed it was a pink dolls cot, yes it was going to the dump and yes I could absolutely have it. I could have hugged the man. The freakish part, ( aside from the image of a crazy woman lugging a huge pink cot for a block down the street with an equally huge loopy smile on her face) was that this truck was outside the scrap metal yard delivering the metal parts of his load before heading to the dump. He had pulled up for a total of five minutes at the exact time I was walking past. Now if that pink cot was not destined to be saved by me then I'll just eat my valance. So now I have five dolly cots to guard while the selling frenzy continues.

Somehow I'm not sure that telling Legoman that they are all different colours and styles is going to cut the mustard for why they must stay. Wish me luck.