Sale of the Century

This past weekend “we” decided to have a garage sale. We have tons of junk. We have an old house with almost zero storage space. Therefore, our basement has become our giant closet; it’s a mess. And, since we are not moving out of here anytime soon (our plan was five years), due to the fact that our home is worth a fraction of what we paid for it, we have to make do. I say purge, purge, purge, thus, the sale.

Bread likes to keep things. He is very disorganized. I have to constantly remind him (nag) to throw things out. He keeps piles of junk everywhere-the kitchen counter, his dresser, in drawers and in his pockets. I’ve actually found boxes in the basement from when we moved out of our apartment, over five years ago, full of receipts and such from his dresser. I’ve since put the kibosh on that. I force him to clean it. But, in case you can’t tell, it’s a major source of contention for us. Clutter at home equals clutter in my brain and we all know I don’t need any more of that. Ohhellno.

So, after some coercing (translation: idle threats), I convinced him to have a garage sale. I was finally going to get rid of the last of my pre-Bird clothing. If I ever have a job again, these clothes are already out of style, not to mention they don’t fit so well. So, that was my major contribution to the sale, along with various other junk (er, treasures), such as books and gifts we never used from our wedding (sorry if you’re reading and are a person who dared stray from the registry-ungrateful bastards that we are).

Bead was holding out. I posted our sale on Craigslist and someone emailed asking if we happened to have a Nintendo. I told Bread, as sort of an oh-too-bad and he says, “Well, actually we do.” WTF? I’m getting rid of my crap. Where is this Nintendo? So, just like that, we have a Nintendo and add $30 to our profits.

The day of the sale, Saturday, started out pouring. We didn’t know what to do and consulted several weather sources, who all had different forecasts, of course. It stopped raining and cleared up so we hauled our crap out. Now, let me tell you, having a garage sale is much like airing all your dirty laundry for your neighbors to examine. The neighbors were flocking to the sale. I could see their wheels turning. Where in the hell do these people keep all this crap! That’s what they were thinking, I can guarantee it. Also, having a sale is, apparently, a great way to actually meet your neighbors and to get the gossip on everyone. Who knew?

The first person to stop by was some alternative-type dude who, it turns out, has given up his car, only to ride a bicycle. He was looking for records. As I open my mouth to say, no we don’t have any, Bread pipes up with, yes, I do. Again, WTF? He heads to his secret cavern of all things in demand at a garage sale and returns with a giant stack of records. This time I am smart! I watch where he goes! To the garage! He is hoarding things in his garage! In the attic of the garage, nonetheless, where he knows I won’t go! I don’t like bugs or the rickety ladder you have to climb to get to said garage attic! Score one for Bread!

Alternative-type dude bought several records, complimented us on our fab taste in music (we also had lots of CDs) and went on his way. He was one of the less-exciting shoppers of our two-day sale. Let me tell you, a garage sale brings out all the crazies. One lady resembled Little Richard, complete with moustache. She wanted to buy a purse, asked how much and when told a couple dollars, promptly stomped off. Sorry. We could have made a deal. I’d have taken $1. Shit. There was a guy with an extra large belly in a size small sweatshirt, a guy who checked out my mom (disturbing), a neighbor who refused to pay $1 for a book, actually became offended, and, a kid who wanted to buy an abused dollhouse to paint black for his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Lair.

My favorite crazy, was another moustache-sporting woman. She was wearing a rather ratty sweatshirt; she had jet black hair, but her ‘stache was blond, and black leggings with a large rip in the back, exposing her white underwear. Now, I’m not judging her outfit, aside from the rip. Maybe she was cleaning and just happened to run out of supplies? She happened by our sale and stopped in. I’m totally not judging. BUT, wear a shirt to cover the rip! Nobody wants to see that shit. She looked at the clothes I was selling. I was thinking, yes, yes, buy some! Nope. Alas, she decided on a CD! She could have gotten pants for the same price! I wanted to tell her! I should have said, “Oh my, you’re in luck! We’re having a sale! Buy one CD; get a pair of pants for free!”

We also sold some of Bird’s toys. I know. We’re horrible parents. But, the number of toys she has far outnumbers anything else in this house. Some of the toys were garage sale finds, some she’s outgrown/sucked to begin with. We prepared her for this as much as you can prepare an almost three year-old for such a traumatic experience. We really wanted to sell her play kitchen, for as you know, I’ve bought her a new one for her birthday. We discussed this with her. She was okay with it. That is, until it actually happened. She was napping when the sale occurred. We packed up and, later in the house, the first thing she wanted to do with Grandma, who was helping with the sale and staying to babysit so we could go out, was “ play kitchen.” Poor Bird, ran to her play food and pots, gathered up a few things and turned to use her stove, only to discover the stove was gone! Where is my kitchen she asked? We explained again that we had to get rid of some of her toys in order to make room for the new ones coming in a few weeks for her birthday. She had a look of devastation, ran to the couch and buried her face in the cushions. I caved. At that moment, I totally gave in. We have to give her the kitchen now, I proclaimed, but Bread was dead-set against it. We let it pass.

Another day of her being devastated by the loss of her favorite toy passes. Again, there is more playing with pots, pans and play food sans the kitchen. She inquires several times as to where her kitchen has gone and whether or not we’re going to sell more of her toys when she’s asleep. Crap. We have scarred her for life. Finally, Bread caves. It’s nearly 8:30 on Sunday night, bedtime. And, he decides we must give her the kitchen now. Sucker! I knew it! This was supposed to be her great birthday surprise! We did it. We gave it to her! She was ecstatic! She also asked, before bed, if we were going to sell it while she was asleep. She also asked if we were going to sell the couch! I guess both of these items are precious to her. I feel her on the couch! What would we do without our couch? We have officially messed up our child! She’ll probably be talking about this in therapy 20 years from now! Great! Parents of the Year! I guess we need to find a birthday gift for our three year-old…