Rufus Cadigan, the editor of our neighborhood newsletter, asked me if I had any good Valentine stories to tell about John and me. I do, because John is definitely a romantic, much more so than I, as evidenced by his history of heartfelt gestures: in 8th grade, he signed my autograph book, “yours until hell freezes over, and all the little devils go ice-skating”; when we were dating, he gave me a Valentine decorated shoebox with wrapped heart-shaped peanut butter and banana sandwiches (my favorite at the time); when I was the proprietor of Just A Second, a vintage decor shop, I came home to a table set with red and white staffordshire dishes, red wine glasses, lit candles in silver candlesticks; and when the right music is playing (a nice slow waltz), we may even dance in the kitchen. But those stories don’t compare to the events occurring since Thanksgiving, involving our bedroom, “the other woman”, and her effect on John.
It all started when I had a booth at Stella & Notte where I featured not only vintage decor, but also name brand vintage clothing. To better display the clothing, I purchased an almost new dress form at a yard sale.
office wear 
colorful rainboots 
yellow slicker
pink purse
There she is in a skirt and black turtleneck in front of the store display. When the store closed, I took the dress form home and put her in my office. There she served me well. When I wear my yellow slicker out in the rain, I throw the slicker over the dressed form to dry. And for fun I might add a complementary accessory such as a bright pink purse to coordinate with the bright checked rain boots.
Then came Thanksgiving, and with the whole family coming, I wanted to clear my office to make room for all the kiddies who needed a play area. The dress form was moved to our bedroom, out of the way. I think she must have very much resented being “out of the way”. She seemed determined to get back at me for disrupting her comfortable downstairs residence. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” I always assumed that was the reaction to something some man had done, not something a woman — me — had done albeit without evil intention.
She’s starting to resemble a poltergeist. John let me know that it was a bit disconcerting when he’d walk into the bedroom and a strange woman was in there. Or he’d wake up in the middle of the night, and do a double take because of her presence. It struck me funny, because I wasn’t experiencing that at all.
in bedroom 
looking at made bed 
looking at unmade bed
But then one morning I went upstairs and glanced into our room, and….had she moved? She had been in front of the window when I woke up. She had been directly in front of the window, but now she was close to and staring at our bed.
Another morning after John left, I got back from my walk and went upstairs to get a book I wanted to read, and there she was staring at the unmade bed where John had slept. And she was dressed differently. As you can imagine, I’m finding the whole scenario pretty entertaining.
The dress form in the bedroom has taken on a life of her own. We were lying in bed when John held up his left hand, the one with the ring finger. I’m sure I must have looked at him oddly, because he felt he had to explain that indeed he had to let “her” know he is a married man.
This morning, I went into the bathroom after John had taken his shower, and there she was. Whose towel was thrown over her shoulders? I have laughed out loud, all by myself, with each new antic.
If Valentine’s Day is not only about romance, but also entertainment, (and I’m not talking dinner and a movie) then I think yes, Rufus, I did have a story to share.
