You Were What You Eat

6. Ye Olde Antiques Shoppe

Saturday morning, Anna woke up nice and early; she never did sleep much. She roamed lazily around her apartment in her pajamas for a little while before deciding to fix herself a nice, hot cup of tea with lots of sugar in it – just the way she liked it. As she poured in the last spoonful, she took a sip and sighed contentedly. Perfect. She continued to drink her tea as she padded over to her front door. She had one of those mail slots, just like in those old black and white movies she loved to watch. It still made her smile to look at that. Her very own door slot – it made her feel like she was in one of those romantic films herself.

As she bent down and picked the mail up off of the plush, dark green carpet, Anna was reminded yet again of the two main disadvantages to having a slot in your door for the mail. First, she had to bend down and pick it up off of the floor. Second, since it all fell onto the carpet instead of being placed carefully into a nice, neat little box, it had a tendency to scatter all over the place. No matter. She quickly brushed these thoughts aside, as she did every day. She liked the romance of her mail slot and didn't want to think about what a pain it could be.

She took the small pile with her back to the kitchen, leafing through it as she went. Bills, bills, bills. All bills – rent, electric, storage... Annoying, but Anna wasn't actually disappointed; it's what she'd been expecting, really. All she ever got were bills. She had only made friends recently, and she hadn't told any of them her address. The only people who actually knew where she lived were the people who sent her bills.

Anna knew it had been nearing the end of the month, but she had been pushing the thought out of her mind. Now, she had the bills in her hand and no money in her bank account. At least, not much. Certainly not enough to cover what she owed. She sighed. Looks like she'd have to do what she always did – find something to sell. But it was such a hassle.

Anna ambled around her apartment, mug still firmly in hand, taking stock of what she owned. The apartment was a small, one-bedroom unit complete with living room and kitchen. The living room was the biggest part of the house, and the front door actually opened directly into it.

On the left was a short hallway, which dead-ended at a small linen closet. On each wall of this tiny hall was a door. The door on the left led to a small, almost hotel-sized bathroom. The other door led to Anna's bedroom.

Anna walked into the bedroom, surveying the furniture she saw. Her bed was a beautiful Colonial-style four-poster made of wood so dark it was almost black, complete with a canopy. The two posts at the head of the bed framed a blue and green landscape painting, and all four posts had been carved into spirals. Both the headboard and the footboard were supported by small, beautifully ornate spindles. Anna smiled. She loved that bed; she'd had it since she was a child and selling it wasn't an option. So she turned towards the two dressers sitting side-by-side on the wall opposite the closet.

The one on the left was made of a light wood and had been purchased by Anna in 1892. The other one had been purchased, oddly enough, almost exactly one hundred years later – 1989, Anna believed. The new dresser was the one Anna used to keep all of the clothes she still wore. The other one used its top four drawers to keep clothes that were at least eighty years old; the bottom drawer was where Anna kept all the papers and receipts for each piece of furniture she owned.

These three pieces of furniture, along with a small nightstand, made up all of the furniture in this room. Anna shook her head slightly to herself. Every piece in here was functional – she wouldn't be able to sell any of these without causing herself some major inconveniences. She decided to look at the living room and dining room instead.

Unlike Anna's bedroom, the small living room was crammed with furniture. She had a couple of antique wingback chairs on either side of a couch she'd bought in the mid-1970s. A coffee table sat in front of the couch, and on the other side of the room was a rather large chest with a television set on top of it. Crammed into the corner was a small table with two tea chairs. The room really was too crowded, and she made a note of this. Something in this room, at least, would have to go – probably the table and chairs. The chairs had thin, spindly legs that weren't really good for sitting on, anyway.