Kiddo was with her dad last night so instead of relaxing on the sofa, quietly sipping my wine and basking in the silence, I immediately headed upstairs to the dreaded playroom. My darling girl did a fantastic job of letting go of many of her beloved toys that she never plays with. Usually when we try this exercise I have to listen to the stories of how much she loves each item and why we can never get rid of that item that she hasn't touched since the last time we tried to purge.
Two hours later, I have all of the relinquished toys organized, bagged in groups and downstairs. My dining room has been turned into a gypsy den with all of the crap, I mean treasures that will be sold in our community garage sale. The sale of course happens to fall on the Saturday that EVERYTHING in the world happens on. Garage sale, dance recital, Jimmy Buffet concert... Those are just the things I have commited to squeeze in that day. I had to turn down at least 4 other opportunities because I just couldn't fit any more into that one day.
I am dreading this garage sale with a passion. I hate to drag my stuff out of doors, put it carefully on display and watch as the heathens swarm. Dragging their tired, dirty, sticky children through my wares. Messing everything up. It is never one casual shopper at a time. They all arrive at the same time and then it is complete chaos as they pick up an item, turn it left, turn it right then set it down on another table. The coffee maker does not belong on the table with the children's clothes. Why would you think that is where it would go? Put it back where you found it!
As you can tell, I am not meant for a life in retail service. People make me crazier than normal as they are sifting through things. Not to mention the people that distract you while their children are shoving as many things into their pockets as they can fit. Really? That item was marked as a quarter. If you need it that badly, just ask me and I will give it to you, but don't think for a minute that I don't notice your scrawny child now suddenly looks over weight.
Another reason I hate garage sales is that my mother used to drag me from sale to sale when I was a kid. No, I don't want that bald Barbie to play with. No, please don't buy me that dorky jumper with the obscene bunny on the front of it. Seriously people, don't do this to your children as it can evidently scar them for life!
Hours later, I would be the tired, dirty, sticky kid with the bag of crap, I mean treasures that I never wanted nor asked for. But it was such a good deal...