|It sounded like a good idea a few weeks ago. I got a sudden burst of energy and started prowling around in my basement and decided that I had enough junk sitting around to have a yard sale.
I’m real peculiar about yard sales. If I decide that I want to put everything together and wrestle all of those items up the hill, then I had better have something to sell.
I hate going to a yard sale when all they have for sale is hard plastic children’s toys or a bunch of clothes.
I consider myself to be a drive-by yardsaler; I’ll drive past several times looking to see if it’s worth getting out of the car for a closer look. Or worse, if my mom is with me, we’ll drive past a sign that says yard sale and I’ll ask her if she wants to stop. She’ll say no she didn’t see anything worth stopping for; however, if she was by herself, she would stop at all of them.
You won’t find any of those items at the middle-aged fat woman’s sale—well, there may be a few items of clothing. I found some things in the basement that I had forgotten I had and I went to an auction a few weeks ago and bought several boxes of tools that I hope to sell. Men like to buy up the tools and I’ll also have a box where everything is a quarter—those quarters can add up.
It’s a couple of days before the big yard sale day and I have worn myself out. I found some old sterling silver items that I detarnished and am going to sell. I painted and reupholstered a patio furniture set that is older than me and have found all of my folding tables. I’m ready to go.
My mom has returned from her second trip of a lifetime and wanted to know what I was doing this weekend. I started to tell her about the yard sale but decided to keep it a secret. Why do I do this? Every time I have a yard sale mom will bring stuff to sell which isn’t a problem. But, if she doesn’t sell it, she’ll leave it at my house for me to get rid of, which is a problem. I barely have enough room for my own junk.
I’m having second thoughts about the yard sale; I could always hope for rain.