So, let me tell you about my day.
(Actually, when you read this my day will have already passed because the day I’m telling you about is Saturday but using the fabulous WordPress scheduling function, this will actually post on Sunday. Isn’t technology amazing?! Now, if only I can figure out how to schedule my Tweets I’m pretty sure world peace will be one huge step closer for mankind.)
Ahem. Back to my day.
We had a yard sale today. This is the ninth weekend in a row we have had a yard sale on Thursday, Friday and Saturday.
I hate yard sales, I always have. They’re dirty and full of unorganized stuff. But it’s a function of our mini storage business and, oh, let me tell you, do we have the delinquent storage lockers full of stuff to unload, so yard sale it is.
The worst part of my hatred of yard sales is I’m too chicken to tell my mother, who loves herself a good yard sale like peanut butter loves jelly, that I hate the sale. I feel safe telling this fact to the unknown universe of the world wide web because I’m quite confident my mother will never, ever read this blog.
She believes computers are like rabid monkeys. If you touch them they’ll bite, possibly throw poo at you, and then you’ll die.
She’s not so technologically friendly.
Anyway, today my hatred of the sale morphed into a little outburst of rebellion where I bagged 300 items of clothing and took them to Goodwill. That’s a tax write-off, my friend!, and I was able to send a pair of Wrangler jeans converted into maternity pants, a Rugrats training bra, silken button down shirt and MC Hammer parachute pants (among other priceless woven jewels) on to a better place.
A place where they will be more appreciated.
Now, when I say yard sale, it’s possible you don’t have the proper visual in your mind, because most yard sales are encompassed within, say, a paved driveway or even a back yard.
Not here. We have three tented carports (10’x20′) filled with furniture, electronics, and cooking items. That doesn’t even count the 10 tabled areas of millenium toys, tools, and miscellaneous cheaply framed artwork from the later 90s. My personal favorite is the print of ballet pointe shoes with a rose in a gold-coated plastic frame.
It’s so pretty.
In addition to the tents and tables, our big-ticket items are kept in separate lockers, because we believe in the separate and unequal policy around here. There’s a set of reclining Lane sofas with the plastic still on them that were the height of home decor back in the years when Hootie and the Blowfish were still going blind.
Nine weeks we’ve been at this yard sale thing. Nine weeks. And we’ve only emptied about six lockers, so you can just imagine the treasures still waiting to be found.
Today, after I dropped off the truckload of clothing and a crockpot missing a one handle and knob, I was feeling empowered and decided the pile of laundry on my sofa needed to be folded into submission.
By the time I got done with that it was time to collapse. Except it was 7 p.m., the hour the marvelous sale closes, and Uno had been waiting all day to convert her golden dollar coin from the Tooth Fairy into her very own shiny, new toothbrush.
So to the store we went.
We came back with lip gloss.
I have no explanation except I was the designated driver and in my own defense, I did say no to the pink and purple tu-tu and glittered eye shadow.
I came home, threatened the ruffians with dismemberment if they got out of bed, and sat on the sofa to watch a ridiculous episode of Millionaire Matchmaker where they justly mock a portly woman with a Hello, Kitty fetish.
Then I remembered we needed to cover the sale with tarps because lightning is ripping through the sky and raindrops are threatening to fall on our heads.
And the countless yard sale treasures.
But there’s a skunk living on the property. It likes to come out and take a leisurely stroll around the place after dark.
So I had to decide: Would I rather tick the skunk off, and possibly smell like terribly burned coffee for awhile, or tick my mom off if the yard sale items of value ruined in the rain?
The choices, the choices.
I chose to do the Biblical thing and honor my mother while praying fervently against a close encounter of the stinky kind.
And my prayers were answered, proof there is a God in heaven. The tarps are in place, the unwitting mother is satiated, and I am without a stink.
Except my own stink, which smells suspiciously of Snuggle fabric softener and almond body lotion. But that, my friends, may be a terrifying combination to a skunk. I don’t know. I’ve never asked a skunk for their opinion.
It may be a good time to mention I wrote this post while under the influence of several Tylenol PMs because, goodness gracious, does the body ache when you’ve been shifting bagged items around.
And it’s now raining. So I’m going to stop writing and let the rhythm of the rain and gentleness of a sleep aid lull me into sweet sleep.
Which hopefully does not contain dreams of yard sales. Ever.
Congratulations, you’ve made it through 900 words of yard sale nonsense. You deserve a medal. OOORRRRR you could take matters into your own hands and let me know what topic you’d like to read – after all, the super special, yippy skippy, 200th post is coming up and I’d love to write whatever you want. I’m a people pleaser like that.
So… leave a comment and give me a topic suggestion. Share StealingFaith.com with your friends. If you don’t, I have a skunk here who may come visit. He’s wearing hoop earings and a tapestry vest because that stinkin’ skunk is totally rad.
P.S. If you know my mom, don’t tell her I talked about her online. She’ll decide she’s now the focal point of an identity theft scheme and I might get grounded.