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The Rotary Dial Telephone Didn't Sell Either

I think it was Chris Rock (or maybe Dave Chappelle) who said, "What do white people drink on Friday night that makes them put all of their crap in their front yard on Saturday?"

Okay, in my case it was Saturday night and Sunday, but be that as it may, one of my pals and I joined forces and had a yard sale.

I threw a pile of crap into my car and combined it with her bigger pile of crap and we turned her front yard into a flea market.

We decided that there are two kinds of yard sales:

  • the kind where you want to make some money, and
  • the kind where you just want to get rid of the crap.

Our yard sale was the second kind; therefore, we priced stuff to sell, sell, sell!

What's interesting is that what I thought would fly out of the yard remained unsold, while the crap I absolutely knew I would be schlepping home sold right away.

For example, I really thought the practically unused Pampered Ch$f cookie press would get snapped up immediately, but no. It was in the box, with all the doohickeys, but I hauled it home. Of course, I could never get it to work right. I thought I'd produce sweet little Christmas trees and dogs and Santas, but no matter which doohickey I used, I got a glob.

Evidently everyone knows about this cookie press quirk, because it remained on the table.

On the other hand, my 30-year old autoharp that hasn't been tuned for 25 of those years and has one missing string and 32 rusty ones sold right away, for a whole dollar! I also sold a couple of old cameras, some snorkel gear, a couple of stuffed animals that were too raggedy to re-gift, and a clock with a dead battery.

None of the pretty ceramic knick-knacks sold, neither did the ceramic light-up Christmas village blacksmith house or my 25-year old worn exactly twice fabulous Frye boots (size 8M -- interested?) or the quite lovely pottery pitcher that I have never once used or Joe's old figure skates that we bought when we took ice skating lessons 15 years ago.

Oh well. There's always Freecycle.

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