They’ve been known to test the best of marriages.
“Hey, who said we were getting rid of that?” I’ve been asked on more than one occasion while trying to sell something my wife purchased in the 1970s.
["We only carry top of the line junk": photos GH]
Without careful planning punches can be thrown. Shots can be fired.
I try to minimize the stress by following a few simple guidelines.
One - I don’t put price stickers on anything that clearly falls inside my wife’s domain. That’s everything.
“How much should I ask for this old hockey stick?” I asked at 8:15 this morning.
“Your call,” said my wife. “And thanks for asking.”
Two - I spend at least a week marshaling used items toward the front door and porch so that I’m not up late the night before the sale. That way, I have the strength to deal with people who want a 10 cent item for 3 cents, two items for the price of one or who wait ‘til my back is turned before asking my wife if she would take less for the hockey stick because the tape is a bit worn.
Don’t you just hate that?
Three - If things don’t get sold I don’t worry about it anymore. There’s always next year. I only want to earn enough to buy pizza for supper. That’s it. The rest is gravy.
["Back into the box; There's always next spring"]
It began to rain today shortly after twelve noon but by then we’d sold enough stuff to pay for supper.
I’m thinking Bondi’s Special Supreme Deluxe pizza with sun-dried tomatoes, feta cheese, grilled chicken with maybe a bit of pineapple and not even a whiff of anchovy.
Not a bad trade off.
***
Because today’s sale was successful, we now have a clear path to a room in the basement that holds more stuff.
So, we might do this all over again in October!
Aren’t yard sales great?
Be honest.
.
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