it's not you, it's me

Very short "Dear John" letters to the things I didn't bring home this week:

Dear Pink Trunk / Toolbox:
I promise, if I had a place for you . . .

. . . and I wasn't so afraid of your adorable-but-lead-filled pink paint . . .

. . . I'd take you home with me. You have that look everyone's trying to copy with chalk paint and faux rust, but baby, you're the real deal. 

Sadly, my kiddo might decide those paint chips look like candy and so, for us, this must be good-bye.

Dear Giant Letters with Neon Tubing Inside:

I would try to tell you how awesome I think you are, but I was never as good with words as you. 

Dear Orange Metal Tool Organizer:

Your orange paint is gorgeous; you are gorgeous. But I admit I find the fact you pack heat (even if it is only a sander) to be the teensiest bit off-puting.

Dear Thingamabob:
I love a little mystery and I think you'd make a great lamp, but I just don't feel like I really know you.

Are you a pressure cooker? A boiler? I just can't gauge.

Dear Cabinets That Would Make the Perfect Play Kitchen:

Stay alive; I will find you.

Linking up to:

Junkin' Joe at the Cottage Market