For Sale, One Garage

As I got up this morning, I went downstairs like I do every day. Today was different. Instead of a table full of half eaten cereal bowls and loud and obnoxious children fighting over which cartoon we are going to watch next, I found myself in the house all alone. At first I thought perhaps they had been abducted by aliens and I quickly went to the phone book to look up the number for the FBI X-Files Division. As I walked past the table, I noticed there was a note. Bummer, I’m beginning to think I will never meet Scully and Mulder. The note had one simple but deadly sentence, “We’ve gone next door to the garage sale.” Garage Sale, never have two words ever invoked so many bad connotations. I have to admit, I am not a big fan of the garage sale. I am not sure which bothers me worse. Me trying to sell my junk or someone rummaging through my stuff and putting a value on my junk. As I went outside still clad in my pajamas and my Goofy slippers, I was met by what must have been 20 carloads of bargain shoppers. The all in unison stopped looking through boxes to comment on my fashion sense. It was bad enough having everyone look at me, but then to have someone come up and say, “I’ll give you 75 cents for your slippers.” That was to much to bear. I yelled for Trina and turned and went back into the house. Trina and the kids came running to tell me that they had each earned $5.50 and they had only been out there for three hours. This was more than I could bear. I headed back upstairs. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.


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