This month marks my 10th anniversary of being a Longaberger consultant. I don't just sell Longaberger products, I LOVE them. I have an addiction. (If you aren't familiar with them, click on the link for my side business and you can see what I'm talking about.)
Yesterday I made the trip with a friend (who also happens to be a customer) to my personal mecca, the Longaberger Homestead, for a Collector's Club Gathering they were having and a day of shopping . On the way there, you pass by their 7-story Basket HQ:
As Stacy & I were shopping in the Factory Store, I spotted a large basket that didn't look familiar. I went running to it and excitedly picked it up. Turns out it was a prototype of a basket they didn't make. And it's even signed by one of the Longaberger family members!
I looked at the price tag. Stacy asked if I was going to get it. I replied, "I'd have to come live with you because this basket crosses the line of my husband's tolerance level of my addiction."
Just take a guess and we'll see who's the closest.
It’s us, but in dead animal form. But not really dead because they weren’t ever alive. Undead? No. That makes them sound like vampires. So not that. Fuck. I don’t know the word. Hey, how long can a title be? Because this seems excessive. Someone should stop me. Jesus. This is as bad as 280-character twitter.
9 hours ago