It's admitting you have a problem, right?
Last Friday morning I peered out the window and to my crazy cluttered hoarding joy realized that our current upstairs neighbor had purged his apartment of years of junk. So like any completely sane and normal person I happily skipped toward the front door while simultaneously squealing something to P about chairs on the street. To his horror, not 15 minutes later, I had drug this through the front door.
In my defense I left the second chair on the street, and passed up our neighbor's offer to another chair in the basement. In case anyone's counting, this makes chair number three needing reupholstering. Totally normal.