Every summer while I was growing up, my family went to Mill Hollow up in the Uintah Mountains. We stayed the weekend in cabins at a science camp where my parents worked during summers after high school. They led us on hikes, taught us names for plants, and took us to the little general store that the camp director opened for an hour or so on Saturdays—just for us, as the school kids who visited the camp had already gone home.
My parents gave us each some money, which we used to buy magnifying glasses, Mill Hollow Stickers, or long strips of colored plastic we could use to make boondoggle lanyards. My brothers spent their money fast. But I rolled those dollar bills up so tight that they turned into little slivers that got all sweaty in my hands. Should I get three feet of the green boondoggle? Or two? Would it match the blue better? Or the purple? How many keychain clips should I get?
And on and on—until it was time to close up shop and I wouldn't be able to buy anything unless I decided RIGHT NOW. You have no idea how many painful decisions went into those crappy lanyards that I made.
Unfortunately, that indecisiveness has followed me until now. I take AGES to make a decision. And once I finally do, it's sometimes too late. For instance, I've deliberated for 2 months now over a rug for our apartment. I finally found one that I love, took some time eliminating all other possibilities, made up my mind and...
It's sold out. Unavailable. The general store has closed. Go buy your boondoggle supplies somewhere else.
Such a pretty rug. Such a silly girl. If any of you see another rug just like this one, tell me. And if I manage to get over what I always do, I'll unroll my dollar bills and buy it before it gets away.