Answer: a yard sale.
If yesterday were any indication, people don’t like to shop outdoors for your old picture frames and worn out tennis shoes in pouring rain. How odd. Those were REALLY great tennis shoes. They were going for $0.50. People should’ve been all over that.
But maybe I’m just bitter.
Okay, probably I’m just bitter.
Bitter that people didn’t jump all over the opportunity to snatch up 43 of my most cherished stuffed animals from my childhood? No.
In reality, I was more disappointed that all my efforts went un-noticed by my fellow Houstonians.
After all, I had been carefully growing my “garage sale” pile since we moved into our house LAST December. For anyone keeping count, that was 11 months ago. I organized my pile, I neatly stacked it in the corner of my garage, I added to it bit by bit…just to ensure it didn’t feel lonely or un-loved. I nurtured it, sang to it and rocked it to sleep like it was my baby….well I kept it clean and spider-free, so that’s pretty much the same thing.
When I cleaned out my parent’s storage, my “garage sale” pile really came to life. So much so that I took it upon myself to spend a Saturday nurturing it some more. This baby needed room to grow! I hauled lumber up into my attic took a hammer and nails (my drill battery was dead) and floored in part of my attic to make room for my beautiful, fruitful pile. For those of you who know what kind of coordination I have, you know what kind of task this was for me. But I did it. Yes, it took me 3 days to get the splinters out of my hands, but I did it.
Then, when the time came, I spent another Saturday loading my precious pile of memories of my younger self into the back of our truck.
One. Box. At. A. Time.
I woke up at 5 am that Sunday.
Wait, allow me to repeat that. I woke up at 5 am that Sunday.
I loaded up my sleepy baby and husband and drug them over to my sister’s house. I started un-earthing the contents of my pile faster than my arms could move. People are going to be here! Any second! We must hurry! FASTER! Packing paper was flying and boxes were being emptied at lightning speed. Go us.
Drip drop. Drippity droppity drip drop drip drip.
Tarps were thrown over what we could cover, and we sat on the porch and watched everything get soaked. We turned the porch into a Bloody Mary bar and sat back and waited. A couple of hours later, the skies parted and things slowly started to dry up. And then things just got weird.
It was too late for the usual pickers, but I was determined to lure in some stray passer-bys. And why not? The bloody marys made me brave. I’ve got this, leave it up to Kelly.
Once glance at the boxing attire and I had my game plan. I strapped on rubber foot covers, hand covers and an awesome hat and proceeded to the nearest intersection to ensure people saw our neon “yard sale” signs.
My awesomeness must have been intimidating, because I am sad to report that this tactic did not work.
Who wouldn’t want to buy this person’s old area rug?!?