I loved the basket the three of you sent to me for my birthday filled with my favorite things such as wine, plain M&M’s, York peppermint patties, the Amazon gift card and the wine glass with the South Carolina palmetto tree/crescent moon logo. It was so very thoughtful. The glass was my favorite, and I used it every day. Thus it is with a very heavy heart that I am admitting to the recent demise of that glass by nothing but sheer carelessness brought on by winter allergies. (I was reaching for a cough drop which was on the counter under the hanging glasses.)
I incorrectly thought I could avoid confronting you all with this admission of my guilt. The plan was to either secretly replace it or to claim to love it so much (I really did love it!) that I needed to know where you bought it so I could purchase a companion, and then purchase two.
So today I set out on my mission to replace it, and now there are ten people, exclusive of Dad, who are aware of my attempted deception. (I had already visited Palmetto Moon last week.) After a telephone call to the State Museum gift shop and describing the glass in detail, I was assured they had precisely what I needed to complete my mission. But alas, they did not. The glass they had was part of a set of four which they would not break up, and what they had was not quite as delicate as the glass you purchased.
Next, I headed to Adams Bookstore, where I found the exact, fragile, tall wineglass, but it had the Gamecock logo, not the palmetto-moon design. The very nice young cashier suggested I try Miss Cocky, but I dismissed that idea believing that the purchase would not have been made there.
I decided to try the gift shop at the Convention Center/Visitor Center gift shop, and may I mention that no one should go there expecting to find any gifts. It’s now a small snack bar with only a few plastic trinkets. When I explained my dilemma to the very nice man behind the counter, he answered first by saying, “Well now the tables are turned,” and then pointed me in the direction of Jewelry Warehouse. I could see you going to there. So over the river to Cayce I headed where I learned that my glass was not purchased at that store either.
The three women behind the counter put their heads together, one suggesting I should approach the problem by telling one of you that a “friend” wanted the glass. Another thought Hobby Lobby would have it, but the third woman, who had previously worked there believed it would not be at Hobby Lobby (Casey is probably happy about that!), and she proposed that I find a plain glass and bring it somewhere to be engraved. The other two women argued that my children never would have done that. “How about Carolina Pottery?” one offered.
So off I went to West Columbia, and after describing the glass to the woman at customer service who doubted they had it, she pointed me to the corner of the store where similar merchandise was displayed. No such luck.
I was tired, discouraged, and hungry by now, so I headed home, debating whether to go with the alternate plan of telling you all that I wanted a second, or tell the truth. But the lie made me uneasy, so I asked Dad, and he agreed that I should just be honest.
So now you all know what I did, and the question of the day is, “where in the world did you get that glass??”