I’m not a big fan of yard sales. In fact, the next yard sale I go to will be my first. And if I do wind up at one, it’s only because there is a gun at my back.
Why buy somebody else’s junk? I’ve got enough of my own.
My wife doesn’t frequent yard sales either. But unfortunately, she likes to have a yard sale every so often to unload our junk on other people.
Who do you think gets drafted to help her haul up our junk and set it up in our garage?
Me.
For what? People who show up at yard sales want everything for a quarter or less.
They’re too cheap to shop at dollar stores.
Last year we made $140 after spending hours labeling tons of junk and carting it up from the basement. My lumbar discs still are screaming at me.
Deduct $50 for business expenses — in this case paying a guy to use his Sheetz credit card to open the locked door between our garage and family room because you have a better chance of walking on Mars than you do getting a locksmith on a Memorial Day weekend.
Yep, we had locked ourselves out of our house. Morons R Us. I hadn’t even finished breakfast. My Wheaties sat getting soggier by the minute on our kitchen table.
Meanwhile, we had nothing to drink and had to go to a neighbor’s to go to the bathroom.
We were sequestered with our junk in the garage, sentenced there because of our stupidity.
Did I mention to my lovely significant other that morning from hell that we shouldn’t have had a stupid yard sale? Only about 7,439 times.
Now if you could buy a hot blonde and a cool home at a yard sale, that would pique my interest.
Then again, when does that ever happen?
Well, in what was more of a real estate offer than a yard sale nine years ago, a 42-year single mom named Devon Trabosh who was as hot as the Florida sun offered online her four-bedroom Palm Beach Gardens home that sported vaulted ceilings, upgraded tile and a soaking tub in a gated community with a pool and tennis courts and her heart for $840,000.
Yes, she was willing to marry the winning bidder if he proved to be a prince.
It was one of those yarns that leaves you dumbstruck and with eyes shiny and vacant, like two rain-streaked windows in an abandoned building.
She was struggling not to lose her house so she resorted to that. Desperation always is a tyranny, I guess.
“Marry a Princess Lost in America” was the headline of the ads she posted on eBay and Craigslist. Alas, eBay was quick to remove her ad because the site prohibits the sale of human beings, body parts or relationships.
At the time Trabosh claimed the online auction was going well and had plans to meet one prospect from Italy.
Unfortunately, I never did find out whether Trabosh sold the house and married the winning bidder.
But for some strange reason I always recall her story whenever we have a yard sale.
Likely because it helps dull the pain.
