I love your legs.
I love the legs on your beautiful table. The legs, the feet, whatever you want to call them are re-darn-diculous-ly stunning! While perusing on-line for vintage furniture for my bedroom re-do, I had to move quickly through page after page of old and decrepit photos. Until the portrait of your piece caused my pulse to race.
You see, I became acquainted with your table's cousin awhile back as I thumbed through my Restoration Hardware catalog, repeatedly. Repeatedly pausing at the earmarked page on which graced the near-likeness of your own splendid gem. Though Miss PSWRT (short, I suppose, for Pedestal Salvaged Wood Round Table, though the sounds 'piss' and 'wart' are hardly a pleasant combination for one so desirably endowed) caught my eye, and I do believe I hers, my eye happened upon her other-worldly price-tag of nearly 2 grand.
2 broken hearts at a love that could never be.
Until that love and hope was restored (no pun intended) when I happened upon your table, equal in majesty, with a dowry that fit my budget. With all the right curves in all the right places and an unmarked face that shows no sign of the many years of her storied life, she is in a word...
Oh, no, sir! I do not mean to be presumptuous! It's just that you had offered to sell the item only days ago and I responded in proper fashion, inquiring after my love, requesting your consent for our immediate elopement.
But you, sir, have not responded. I do not know if she has been pledged to another, I do not know if you have finally realized the treasure that you have and are now unwilling to part from her, I do not know if ours is a love that can ever be.
Please email me, sir. I have only moments before my husband returns from the airport and am desperate to have her in my bedroom before he has time to exercise his say in this matter, this matter of the heart.