by Jenny Hansen
In the last two weeks, the Hubs and I have engaged in the energy-sapping double-whammy of “garage sale” and “kid party” over back-to-back weekends. The kid party, complete with margaritas and a bounce house, was a blast.
The garage sale? Not so much…
It’s taken me more than a week to recover from that one. Seriously. I was traumatized.
It wasn’t just the cleaning, although that was enough to throw my back out and send me running to Facebook for back remedies. It wasn’t the manic husband, although he got that MacGyver look in his eyes: Ooooh, a box. I could take back eight square inches of garage floor by selling the contents of this box!
His brother helped him “get organized” and he was worse than my husband: If it is in a box, it is for SALE. My head is down and I will not notice those were my mother’s silver candlesticks, or that these frames have my niece’s baby pictures in them.
I was minding the kid when they finished Friday night, so I never got to review the sale items. Then those two scamps decided to let me sleep and started selling items at about 6 am.
Silly, silly me. I should have booby-trapped the freaking front door.
When I opened the front door (before coffee) at about 7:30, the first thing my eyes landed on were my mother’s angels. They are sweet ceramic kissing angels that had been packed lovingly in a box until the Little Bean was to the age where she wouldn’t accidentally break them.
Only now they were balanced on a pile of garage sale crap with someone asking me how much they were. That was the first time I said the words that scared the stuffing out of the men:
“I’m SO sorry. Those are not for sale.”
This was usually followed by a pissed off remark from the customer, peeved that I took the (insert family heirloom) off their pile.
I didn’t get to that first cup of coffee till almost 10, and it’s a wonder nobody died.
It was a lo-o-o-ong day.
I have no idea how many heirlooms walked away, but I personally saved the angels, some silver candlesticks, two signed art works, three birthday presents, tons of family photos and some incredibly expensive custom-made items my husband was planning to sell for a buck.
Then there was the X-rated part, which thankfully happened before I woke up.
Note: Some of you might remember the Almost X-rated Garage Sale thrown by my mother and Aunties in small-town Missouri. There were no “red covers” (aka hot romance novels) involved in my not-so-small-town SoCal garage sale.
However, there was an incident with a box. A personal box, that was clearly labeled “MEOW.”
[And before we go any further, you should know that I don’t own a cat. I’m allergic to cats.]
I didn’t expect to see the MEOW box tucked behind some charcoal on the front porch. (I’d been living under the delusion that this box was tucked into the top of my closet.) I didn’t actually notice it until I got coffee in my hand.
The MEOW box is the toy box. The single-girl sexy pie box. The box you have your best friend grab and hide in the event of your death.
So this conversation happened:
Me: [Taking deep breaths.] *sips coffee* Honey, thanks for saving the MEOW box. I’d have died if anyone LIKE YOUR BROTHER saw that.
Him: I don’t know if he saw it. It was chaos this morning. But two Latino men saw it, because one of them asked me how much it was.
Me: *shakes blood back into head* WHAT?
Him: Yes, one of the men waved me over, wiggled his eyebrows and said, “Es for the girls, yes?” I didn’t know what he meant until he started waving one of the vibrators.
Me: He waved— *covers face* Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod.
Him: I thanked him, folded up the box and tossed it on the porch. His friend offered me ten bucks for the whole box, but I thought you might want to look in it first.
Me: Ohmigod. DID YOUR BROTHER SEE ANY OF THIS?
Him: I told you, it’s been a madhouse out here. I don’t think he had time to look at anything.
Me: I’ll be back in a minute. I need to add some liquor to this coffee.
I don’t know if I’ll EVER recover from this garage sale. I do know we won’t be having another one unless I take a more active role. However the Hubs is happy because his garage looked like this when we were done.
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About Jenny Hansen
By day, Jenny provides training and social media marketing for an accounting firm. By night she writes humor, memoir, women’s fiction and short stories. After 18 years as a corporate software trainer, she’s delighted to sit down while she works.
© 2015 Jenny Hansen. All content on this page is protected by copyright. If you would like to use any part of this, please contact me.