Ding Dong, the Crap is Gone
The rummage sale was fairly successful (I'm sure you were dying to know). It was a staggering amount of work, but it really is better to be organized in advance than just to toss your stuff out into the driveway and hope that you are fairly compensated for it. The hardcore rummagers were there early and the high chair, stroller, etc. were gone within the first half hour or so. I didn't get too many people trying to haggle. I invited a lot of people I know, and people you know are less likely to bleed you dry. In fact, lots of nice people stopped by. My friend Nancy even came by just to hang out.
There were a few creepy shoppers. One guy grumbled that I only had girl clothes. Then he said his sister had a little boy and that he needed boy clothes. But, oddly enough, he bought a pair of khaki pants with a huge flower embroidered on the leg. Another lady came in and held up a fuchsia Gymboree sweater and a pair of light green Gap pants. "These are perfect together!" she exclaimed. Sure, if you, um, suffer from a very serious visual impairment. Like maybe the one on the poster at my optometrist's office, where your field of vision is like a funhouse mirror. But she happily paid for the ensemble, so who am I to argue?
Two or three brief thunderstorms rolled through during the day, so I had to haul everything into the garage and then out again. P took the kid to the wildlife sanctuary for part of the afternoon. He snuck her out our back door so that she wouldn't see her stuff in the driveway. I had laid out a dress for him to put on her and then fixed her hair myself before opening the sale. Later they brought me some lunch and I couldn't help but notice that her adorable sundress was on backwards. "Didn't you think it would be a little odd for the pockets to be on the back of her dress?" I asked. "No," he replied.
Anyway, I made enough money to pay for gas and tolls on our upcoming vacation to DC. I have some clothes left so I'll be dropping those off at a resale place to see what I can get for them. P told me that I am permitted to purchase only seven outfits for the kid next season. "Eight if she has an accident and craps herself," he clarified.
That would be a challenge because she currently changes her clothes at least twice a day. And she only wants to wear dresses. This morning I made her wear a dress that she doesn't particularly like (she didn't say why). She had a meltdown and wailed, "I don't wanna be this dress!" P calmly told her: "Well, you're gonna be that dress and that's all there is to it. Now eat your vitamin."
There were a few creepy shoppers. One guy grumbled that I only had girl clothes. Then he said his sister had a little boy and that he needed boy clothes. But, oddly enough, he bought a pair of khaki pants with a huge flower embroidered on the leg. Another lady came in and held up a fuchsia Gymboree sweater and a pair of light green Gap pants. "These are perfect together!" she exclaimed. Sure, if you, um, suffer from a very serious visual impairment. Like maybe the one on the poster at my optometrist's office, where your field of vision is like a funhouse mirror. But she happily paid for the ensemble, so who am I to argue?
Two or three brief thunderstorms rolled through during the day, so I had to haul everything into the garage and then out again. P took the kid to the wildlife sanctuary for part of the afternoon. He snuck her out our back door so that she wouldn't see her stuff in the driveway. I had laid out a dress for him to put on her and then fixed her hair myself before opening the sale. Later they brought me some lunch and I couldn't help but notice that her adorable sundress was on backwards. "Didn't you think it would be a little odd for the pockets to be on the back of her dress?" I asked. "No," he replied.
Anyway, I made enough money to pay for gas and tolls on our upcoming vacation to DC. I have some clothes left so I'll be dropping those off at a resale place to see what I can get for them. P told me that I am permitted to purchase only seven outfits for the kid next season. "Eight if she has an accident and craps herself," he clarified.
That would be a challenge because she currently changes her clothes at least twice a day. And she only wants to wear dresses. This morning I made her wear a dress that she doesn't particularly like (she didn't say why). She had a meltdown and wailed, "I don't wanna be this dress!" P calmly told her: "Well, you're gonna be that dress and that's all there is to it. Now eat your vitamin."
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