While R was out of town, I went on a spree of thrift stores. Although he appreciates the booty I snag on these expeditions, he does not share my enthusiasm for prowling through piles of Other People’s Crap. For that, I have to turn to our beloved Diane von Austinberg. As I’ve mentioned before, she is a master of separating trash from treasure; she can run a whole rack of Forever 21 discards and find the only Prada cashmere in junk store captivity. In her size, bastard.
Naturally, without her guiding wisdom, I scored almost nothing, despite hitting every single store in town, except the Junior League. Those bitches. I did find some lovely medium size glasses, just right for R Man’s milk at dinner. They turned out to be very high quality glass, once all the thrift store grime had been washed off, and they’re engraved PBC. I’m guessing Penelope Bennington Carruthers. They seem to have never been used, one supposes Mme. Carruthers preferred to knock back the vodka in a teacup so the help wouldn’t know. As if. At least until the unfortunate Incident when she caught Mr. Carruthers with the pool boy, and after that she just guzzled it straight from the bottle. So the glasses? Untouched.