Wardrobe Dreams

or...married to the right person

If we hadn’t gone for a stroll through our small town a few weeks ago, we’d have never seen the wardrobes. But there they were in the window of the charity shop at the bottom of the market square.

They were hard to miss—“They’re so ugly, they’re kind of…beautiful” I said. Caramel, or maybe toffee, colored birds eye maple doors and sides with darker striated base and curved top. Lacy filigree gold pulls. Only £50? But did we really need two of them?

They came as a set. We opened a door, hoping no nasty surprises.

Inside the wardrobes were clean, with glass-fronted drawers and carefully-printed labels: “Socks”, “Underwear”; “Shirts”. The bottom two drawers were a little more haphazard. They were hand-lettered “TRAVEL” and “SUNDRIES”. (What the hell’s a sundry? we wondered, and decided that depended where the previous owner’s interests lay.)

The charity shop said delivery charge was…ten pounds. The shop manager consulted with their driver. He wanted to know whether we had stairs. “He’s elderly,” she said as an aside. “He’s in his seventies.” Eric and I looked at each other.

The deal was done.

Suddenly it seemed like our lives revolved around these behemoths— it was as if we’d adopted children. Allowances must be made. We knew they were destined for our bedroom. Houses built in the century before the last century aren’t exactly bursting with closets. We’d spent over an hour in IKEA some months back, eyeing and measuring and costing out the modular wardrobe choices. The variations and possibilities were only as limited as your vision and tolerance for this kind of thing: they were very sleek and expensive. There was no getting around the reality they’d be big shiny lumps that took up a lot of bedroom real estate.

But surely the IKEA wardrobes would be better than the sad plastic tub that had sat against the one wall since August 2024 with a load of Eric’s clothes heaped on top? (I’d downsized my clothing collection to what could fit in a small wardrobe the previous owners constructed next to the chimney breast). We’d let the idea rest.

Now it felt fated. These wood veneer relics were making the decision for us—urging us into a new era: the wardrobe years.

A time was arranged with the elderly van driver. A band was over working on some recording when the wardrobes arrived. We first saw Lassie play a great set back around Christmas. Eric has been recording their harmonies mixed with surf guitar and pulsing drum sound, and the two women, Emily and Camille, have become friends. We’re doing some gigs together soon! Lassie were bemused as Eric told them to hang out and relax while the short work of getting these bits of furniture into place happened.

The old van driver took a look at the Edwardian (or is it Victorian?) staircase up to what the British call the first floor, blanched, and dumped the large lumps outside the front door of the house. He’d been jealous of the wardrobes and didn’t think we deserved such a prize. We lifted them and realized there was no way they were going up the stairs without more muscle.

Eric called our pal Rick the Builder.

Rick comes from Kansas, was in the Air Force, plays heavy metal bass and lives in a small village about thirty minutes away. Thank god for Rick— he refits doors, puts in windows; tiles and paints, does plumbing, all while listening to a comforting classic rock radio mix. He’s bigger and stronger than your average Englishman but makes jam and spaghetti sauce from the bounty he and his British wife grow in their garden. He’s a reminder of the good things about America, the generosity and ease, the good-humored can-do spirit built into the best people there.

Thank God for Rick. He came flying over to help.

Eric, Rick and I shoved the first, slightly smaller wardrobe up and around the staircase with a curve at the top. Rick said “Hey, Amy’s a bad ass!” after he saw me sweating and straining next to Eric at the back end of the behemoth. He doesn’t know I grew up with four brothers and never wanted to be “the girl” (except for when it served me). Camille and Emily waited patiently to get back to work, cheering us on.

Eric had measured and determined the two wardrobes side by side would fit PERFECTLY along the intended wall. We didn’t really need two wardrobes but since they came as a set…

The second was bigger and heavier than the first. There was no way it would make that turn at the top of the stairs. Now we were on a mission. Nobody said “You know, we don’t really need that second wardrobe…” No way were we breaking up a family. Rick got out the drill. Camille and Emily made more cups of tea.

The guys took the thing apart. We got the pieces up the stairs. Eric and Rick rebuilt the second wardrobe, right next to the first. Rick needed to go but Eric promised to come over and help him with some recording. Camille and Emily listened to one of their tracks and headed off.

That night, Eric and I lay in bed admiring the wardrobes.

“They’re very…caramel,” Eric said.

“Kind of shiny?” I said. “But they fit so perfectly! And won’t it be nice to have all your clothes organized, on hangers and in those lovely glass-fronted drawers?”

“I imagine we’ll get used to them,” Eric said.

“Maybe we could sort of…stencil a pattern on them, to kind of break up the caramel, make them blend in a bit?”

We both fell asleep eventually, dreaming wardrobe dreams. Things would never be the same again, it felt. How had it happened? It was like the entire lives of the previous owners of this furniture dynasty would have to be incorporated into our lives. Not through any specific knowledge, just osmosis. What kind of ties had the guy hung on the built-in tie rack, for what sort of job? Where had their “TRAVEL” taken them? What the hell was a SUNDRY?”

I slept uneasily. The wardrobes were looming. I woke up early and went downstairs to google “stenciling”. What sort of paint would work on this polished veneer? A slight geometric pattern, maybe two colors, a little deco, a little Morocco, might break things up a bit. I wasn’t going to spoil the wardrobe party. They fit the space perfectly. We had a storage solution.

Eric came downstairs a little bit later. “Cup of tea?” I said. He’s never once said “No,” but I like to ask.

I thought of going back upstairs to read in bed for a little while, but couldn’t face the newbies. I’m sure I could get used to the two of them—it might just take a little time.

I handed Eric a cup of tea. He said, “I was thinking about those wardrobes…”

I froze. “The stencil idea?”

“Just—do you really think we need the both? One would work just fine. I could hardly sleep with the two of them staring at me. It was like they’d taken over the whole room…our entire lives even.”

I waited a beat. Inside my heart was leaping. There’s a reason Eric and I are married.

“I’ll get the drill,” one of us said.

“I can’t wait to tell Rick,” said the other.

We figured the wardrobe could fend for itself for a little while — Eric and I are doing gigs in California this week and next, come on out.