Yards vs. (scary) Sales

Today was Carl's day off, so we decided to hit a few garage sales before getting around to some much needed yard work. I don't know about you but in my way of thinking, life is too short. Who the heck needs to spend 8 hours pampering the lawn on their precious days off from work? Isn't that just more work? (Just nod your heads in agreement.) After all, a little splash of dandelions never did kill anyone, and they are every child's "dozen roses" for mama. So, garage sales first. Yard work as an afterthought next.

The first garage sale was a bit of a faux pas (that's fox pox for those who don't speak French). It was in our neighborhood and we saw tons of cars parked all around a house that had the garage door open and indeed was filled with lots of "stuff." Only, where's the sign? There's no sign in the yard. Only a vaccum cleaner by the curb, propped up against a mailbox. Okay, maybe but....

"Honey, let's go up and see."
Carl didn't like that plan one little bit. He thought it was some kind of "inside" sale or "giveaway." (seriously). I was all, "Just what kind of "inside" sale do you suppose they're having? Exactly how does one get an invitation to the pre-launch private sale before they open to the general public?" Carl wasn't amused. And c'mon, giveway? For crying out loud, I saw people hauling couches and mattresses out of the house. There's a better chance it was a break-in than a giveaway.

Anyhoo, we trodded up the drive and sure enough, sale was in full swing. It wasn't meant to start until tomorrow, but there was a garage sale sign posted at the entrance to our neighborhood, not far from this particular house, and all the sale groupies thought they had found their mark. And the garage sale operators (not the homeowners, btw, who are living in CA) were letting everyone stomp through the house to check out the goods, a bit like a tag sale.

Honestly? I just had fun checking out the house because it's bigger than mine (Oh, just stop. I'm not gonna hang my head too low here because all you Home and Garden types know you'd do it too.)

Finishing there, we moved on down the main road and found a sign at the end of a very long driveway. It was a bit intimidating, the thought of committing to a quarter mile drive off the main road just to check out someone's junk stuff. But we ended up taking that as a positive, thinking there just might be some good finds because others would have passed on the scary driveway. How I wish I'd learn to listen to that little voice inside, just as I was taught.

The first thing I noticed was a little shed with "Phyllis' pecans" on it. Yeah, that's because Phyllis is nuts (did I say that out loud?) Phyllis was probably in her late 60's, more like Grandma Phyllis (No offense to any grandma readers here; just setting the stage for what's about to come in this story.) And Phyllis was, well,....she was just kinda scary (think Nanny McPhee).
Why scary?
Well, for one, do you suspect your grandma wore a thong? I thought not.
Granny Phyllis does.
And that's not all.
They're see-through thongs at that.
And she was selling them at her garage sale. Oh sure, you can try to convince me that they weren't hers ("That's not mine, officer. I was just holding it for Granny Rose.") But the thing is, there wasn't a single thing in that sale, not one, that would have belonged to anyone BUT a grandma like Phyllis. Lots and lots of stuff she should have tried to sell back in 1972. You know the kind of sale I'm talking about.

Except for the thongs.

And I might have not thought they were hers. That is, until I discovered her collection of two-piece bathing suits, also circa 1972. I just don't know how to put this gently, but they had to be size 42 X-long (I'll leave you to your own visual on that one.)
Now I can't be sure, but I think I stifled a slight whimper on that note. It wasn't over yet, however. I looked in the corner and there sat Grandpa (a pecan picker back in the day, I assume). He had this, this....look. This strange smile that said he found my discomfort amusing. I so wanted to turn to Carl and say, "Grandma got her freak on! We need to get the heck out of here NOW!," but I believe I only forged a strained, "All done. Ready, honey?" The look on Carl's face told me he too had passed Granny Phyllis' scary collection of sale items, which apparently left him a bit queasy and disoriented. Time to go!

The final sale was almost as scary. Should have turned back when we saw a guy that looked like Waldo (yes, that Waldo) attempting to start a chainsaw in the front yard. Again, it was a long driveway. Again, we failed to heed that warning sign. We got out of our van and a geriatric Cujo began toward us. He was probably part Chow and his upper lip appeared to be slightly curling as he made his way in our direction. I quickly shoved my kids behind me and forbade them to attempt to pet him.

A "bohemian" woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She had a ragged handkerchief tied over her head, hippie style, camoflauge pants and a heavily worn army green tank top on. No shoes and some very curly but unkept (a la wild) hair.
"He don't bite. He don't even hear," she yelled.

Swell, so now geriatric Cujo is also deaf. Given that he also had cataracts, I began to feel a bit better about his approach, wondering if he even still had teeth. Could it be any worse?
That's when Tripod, the 3-legged cat, appeared from around the back of the house. Naw, not really, but it wouldn't have surprised me after seeing Chainsaw Waldo in the front yard. We're so outa here!

Four hours of yard work didn't look so bad after all that. And it was a most productive four hours at that; mowing, weed whacking, weeding front yard beds, dropping organic fertilizer in the front and seed in the back, thatching and bagging the front yard, and blowing away stray clippings from the drive and sidewalk. And frankly, after the garage sale adventures we had today, that yard work was more like child's play.

Afterthoughts:
Did I mention that I hit Reece in the leg with the weed whacker? He snuck up on me. If you're thinking, "I've done that before," then you've never seen Reece's legs. He barely hits the height/weight charts (3rd to 5th percentile). And his legs? Well, I'm thinking dandelion stems stand a better chance against the weed whacker. I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and I was clued in to enter a contest over at Pioneer Woman's blog. Admittedly, I am not a regular reader (don't hate me). But okay, I'll jump in on a chance to win a sw-weeet mixer. She was giving away 4. I scrolled down and saw over 400 entries. Well,...okay, about a 1% chance of winning. Not terrible for a giveaway.
I added my entry and...............I was officially something like entry #11,468. After reeling my bug eyes in, I gave a defiant little, "Hmmmf!" and thought, "I'll just run my own contest sometime. I'm sure I can come up with something for the 18 followers of my blog. Granny Phyllis had a few choice items, for example. What size sheer thong do y'all wear? ;)

Toni