The VIM has been on the lookout for a suitcase. An old suitcase. To replace the old, beatup suitcase that he stores his guitar cords in. After many unsuccessful yardsale drivebys, I headed to a local antique mall. I have a love/hate relationship with the antique mall. Every visit is filled with tension. I constantly have to balance the natural urge to touch everything (I'm a toucher - a hand-runner-overer. I'm all about texture.) with the knowledge that everything I touch is dusty, and the knowledge that the dust will eventually find it's way from my fingers to my eyes and nose, and the knowledge that I will spend the next 6 hours sneezing and weepy-eyed.

I try to keep my hands in my pockets, but it never works. Before I know it I catch myself caressing a moth-eaten velvet divan. Or thumbing through a musty church hymnal. Or buying an old suitcase.

I was so proud of myself for finding the suitcase. It was perfect. Hard case, smooth surface, big. Smelly. Extremely smelly. Mildewy, even. I have tried everything - Putting it in the sun. Putting it in front of a fan. Gallons of Febreeze. Cans of Air Freshner. No luck. It still smells, and it makes me sneeze. A lot. Thankfully the VIMs birthday is approaching and I can soon be rid of the monstrosity I've grown to hate (not only does it smell, but the inside has that old-fashioned satiny material lining. Pink old-fashioned satiny material. It looks like a tiny coffin).

Aren't I a great girlfriend? "Happy Birthday honey! Here's a used smelly dirty little coffin with Bounce sheets tucked into every nook and cranny to cover the underlying smell of dirt, mildew, Febreeze, and Glade. Hope you like it. Better store it in the garage."