A new antique shop just opened a couple of miles from our rental home and I talked my reluctant husband into coming to check it out with me. We are looking to finally purchase a home of our own, and while my husband has been desperately trying to curb my spending (which I think I’m doing pretty darn well with, thankyouverymuch), I keep thinking—merely thinking—of things I want to buy for the house once we get it. Point being, antique stores are dangerous territory right now.

“I want one of these in the worst way,” I said, caressing the antique spinning wheel.

“A spinning wheel? What in the world would you do with that?”

Not knowing the first thing about spinning, I replied, “Put it in our living room once we get a house.”

“Okay,” he said, doing his best to keep the mild exasperation out of his voice. He is far too practical not to have rolled his eyes while my own glittered at the sight of the spinning wheel I haven’t the first clue how to use. “Why do you want to put an antique spinning wheel in our living room?”

I grinned. This was the question I so hoped he’d ask. “So I can tell people it’s the one on which Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger.”

I’m sure he wanted to laugh, but it was a sigh that came out. He’s heard numerous times about how when I was a little girl I wanted four white mice (because “four white mice are easily four white horses”); and he still has the wolfman mask from when I talked him into going as the Big Bad Werewolf for Halloween so I could go as Little Dead Riding Hood.

He rolled his eyes and sweetly said, “When we have a house, sweetie,” and started walking away, presumably to get me as far away from the spinning wheel as possible.

He shook his head as I informed him that the spinning wheel would make a perfectly acceptable birthday or Christmas present, but I detected a hint of an amused smile too.

I think he’s finally come to terms with the fact that he married a wanna-be fairy tale princess.