Saturday's
garage sale got off to a great start. With Kyle's help, I set up pretty quickly. And before he went to work, he ran to the store to get me coffee and change.
It wasn't a busy day, but for the most part, I had fairly steady shoppers. I even sold a bunch of beige polyester tablecloths from the wedding to a woman who worked at a nearby church. Kyle's mom and sister came by for lunch — with lunch — and then my adorable friend Danielle surprised me with a visit.
Like me, Danielle is trying to save money and pay down debt. She's so organized about it, she even travels with her own healthy snacks — carrots, celery and almonds in Ziploc bags — neatly tucked into her little purse. Around 3, she left with the stability ball I bought with the best of intentions but never used.
My plan for the rest of the afternoon was to stay open for a few more hours, then call the guy who runs the thrift store down the street to come pick up what I hadn't sold — since I'd
promised Kyle nothing would return to the house or garage. But not long after Danielle went home, it started to get really dark. I should have taken that as a sign to close up shop, but I figured it it would rain before it poured, and I was there to make money, not worry about the weather.
Well, then all hell broke loose and the sky opened up, and within a matter of seconds, Mother Nature had dumped what seemed like an entire ocean on top of me and my sale. My first thought was to grab the mattress from the daybed I was trying to sell (another purchase I never used). As I was trying to get it into the house — fighting against the huge gusts of wind — I heard a loud crash. My tallest shelf, which was stacked with books and knickknacks, had been blown over. It wasn't an incredibly sturdy shelf (in fact, it was a piece of crap Kyle had in his kitchen before we ever met, which is why I was trying to sell it) but if we weren't in the middle of the country, I might have worried I was about to get stuck in a hurricane.
I slid the mattress into the house and ran back out in the pouring rain to rescue linens and try and collect the quickly bloating books. The bottoms of the boxes I was stuffing were breaking out as I picked them up, and soon everything that could contain or retain water was — including my clothes, shoes and hair.
I spent nearly an hour cleaning up the front of the driveway, and had to throw away probably 40 books. Throwing away any books,
ever, makes me sad. When everything was cleared from the front, I moved toward the back to get started on the dishes and kitchen items — many of which had been blown off of the table.
By this point, I was soaking wet from head to toe, and I really, really,
really had to pee. The heavy rain wasn't helping. To go, at least like a lady, I'd have to track water in the house and all the way up the stairs, since we don't have a toilet on the main floor. But the real problem was the fact that I was wearing skinny jeans — which are never easy to get over my elephant-like calves, especially when I've just put lotion on my legs or it's super humid out. I knew that if I pulled those jeans down, there would be no getting them back up. I also know myself well enough to know that when the pants come off for the day, they are not to be replaced by new pants. Once free of wet jeans, I would want nothing more than to take a warm shower, slip into some dry jammies, and spend the rest of the evening on the couch.
However, I wasn't about to leave a huge mess in my driveway, even if I could blame it on the weather. To be honest, I really didn't mind being out in the pouring rain; it wasn't too cold, and by this point, the whole thing seemed so ridiculous, I was laughing as I picked up shards of glass and debated grabbing anything metal for fear of being struck by lightning.
I kind of surprised myself when I decided to just pee in my pants. I was also surprised at how easy it was. For whatever reason, I can't pee in the lake or the ocean, but in my driveway, in my pants? No problem. I was already wet, and all alone (everyone else had sense enough to get inside before the rain came).
Of course, I immediately regretted my decision. It's not the most pleasant smell in the world. But then my rational rain brain saw the garden hose, and thought:
What the hell? I'm already soaking wet, and I've peed myself. Hose it off, girl.
So I did, and spent about another hour cleaning up more wet garage sale inventory... which, of course, meant taking some of it inside. Jack didn't mind.
I had to leave a few things on the curb, and all of it has disappeared, except for this wonderful mid-century-esque dreser that's still in front of my house. I hope it finds a new home soon.
Overall, I still consider the day a success: I saw an old friend, made $121.21, got rid of a
lot of stuff, and got a pretty good workout frantically cleaning for two hours in the pouring rain.
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