So yesterday was Saturday, one of the best days of the week for a vintage hunter.  In our house, we’re not die-hards, photo of seatbelt beltrising before dawn to scope out the best sales or anything, but we sometimes saunter out, usually around 9:00 or 9:30 and meander our way down the country roads near (and sometimes not so near) our house in search of treasures.

Sometimes we don’t find much.

Lots of  clothes for children we don’t have and knick-knacks for dusting I don’t do.  There are some ambitious vendors ($80.00 for the tiny child’s chair) and some people whose interests or tastes just don’t give me that “oh wow look at THAT!” feeling.  But there are also the estate sales from houses that haven’t changed in 50 years and church sales where everything seems to be 10 cents.  My excited butterflies start before I’ve even left the car.

Yesterday, I spent $8.75 on a few fun finds (some of which had my husband rolling his eyes).   There was the vintage tolle-painted, metal garbage pail with foot pedal (red) and only slightly broken.  Luckily I live with the handiest of handymen and he assured me that “with a little coaxing with a hammer”, it would soon be sitting pretty in our ensuite bathroom.  

There was the antique jam jar which had long ago lost its wooden lid but which was still charming and a steal of a deal since I don’t care enough about junk pedigree to worry if it’s the real thing or not.  And a Fisher Price doctor’s kit (a great addition to the Operation game I put on my promotion table for my medical school admission business). Of course, there were the requisite children’s books to add to my collection but it wasn’t until after we’d munched our way through a country garlic festival and were returning home, sighingly satiated and stinky of breath in the afternoon, that we stumbled across the aforementioned eye-roll-provoking treasure.

The seatbelt belt.  Yup.  You’ve probably seen them in your travels.  You take an old car seatbelt and fashion it into a belt and well, being a car girl as I am, it struck a chord with me.  It was humorous and whimsical and slightly ridiculous:  the very definition of something I usually want to own.  The owner didn’t even barter (possibly because she was being bombarded by our garlic festival breath and just wanted to escape) and I had to have it…even though it did cost me the princely sum of 50 cents. 

There was much eye rolling as we made our way back to the car, me grinning from ear-to-ear.  And I know that a seatbelt belt is possibly stretching the “retro” theme of this blog because maybe it’s not retro, but rather, simply weird.  You decide.

Me, I’m too busy smiling about my belt.