It takes 100 years for something to be termed antique and gain value. So my mother-in-law informed me over dinner last Sunday.
We were sitting at the table and out of the blue she says, “I’m almost an antique.” She is 98 years old.
She said if she was an old chair or a cabinet we’d be fighting over her. “Keep me for another two years and I will be an antique.”
I don’t think she noticed the shock on my face. Two years … I was finding this two hours hard going.
I looked at my husband. He was trying desperately to ignore the conversation.
“We’ve enough antiques,” I say. “I’m more a fan of Ikea stuff myself.
He looked at me puzzled. “I really don’t think we were talking about furniture there. I thought we were talking about …”
That’s when I interrupt him. “I’m talking about anything that’s nearly 100,” I smile. “I can’t mind anything that old … requires too much minding and looking after… too precious.
“Are you sure we’re talking about furniture here?” he repeats.
“Of course, darling,” I say, “you know you really should pay more attention.”