My mum had to jet off this week for a funeral. Apparently she was in such a rush, she wasn't able to tie up her loose ends. I get a call from her at the airport, requesting that I pick up fabric samples from her house and go to a small quilting store in town. Say her name. They would know what to do.
Very mysterious, no?
As instructed, I find the little baggie of quilting material on her front bench. I take it to the store and wait patiently in line as the woman in front of me pulls a discount code from a jar and nearly pees her pants for 20%. She's saved 8.94 on her gingham alone. You go, girl.
Me: I'm not sure if I'm in the right place, but...
Lady at the Counter: Oh, you are.
Me: Okay, my mum told me to show this to you (baggie of material) and pick up a new baggie.
Lady: (looks from side to side then grabs a new baggie from a box and hands it to me) Just take it. She's actually not allowed to do it this way. She has to come in herself.
Me: But she's across the country at a funeral.
Lady: That's fine. Just take it. It's supposed to be $7, but just take it.
Me: Um. Okay. ... ... So what's this all about? Is it like a Quilt Fight Club?
Me: You know. Like the first rule of Quilt Fight Club is don't talk about Quilt Fight Club?
At this point, I can hear them whistling over her head, as she gives me the same condescending smile she probably reserves for kids who fart at dinner and giggle.
Me: Well, thanks then. She won't be back by next Saturday, so I guess I'll see you again to pick up her next fix.