My mom is hosting a gigantor garage sale this Saturday, one that I have contributed pounds and pounds of stuff to. Tough break for Mom: I won't be there. Of all the Saturdays to pick from, the sale falls on the day S and I leave for Colorado. Luckily, Mama O will be helping Mama W.
I've spent the last few days helping my mom organize stuff, and more specifically, pricing a ton of my junk. I made a HUGE box of stuff that is basically 25 cents for anything in there. I figure I can make some laundry money from old snowglobes and magnets and Smokey Bear pins. It is oddly depressing (or liberating? or a lesson in the free market?) when you really don't think most of the things you have owned could fetch more than two bits from the average stranger. I just hope my nose flute goes to a good home.
Kidding! I would never sell my nose flute!
Also, what is it about this commercial that is so grating? And why is it when it comes on I can't look away? I want to climb inside of it and turn the radio off and tell those girls to knock it off.