Estate sales. They are similar to garage or yard sales, but different.
Usually, the owner(s) of the items in an estate sale is no longer around, and someone else is running the show. At garage or yard sales, the owners are right there with you to haggle with prices. “Seventy-five cents for this garden shovel? I’ll give you twenty-five!”
Recently, I breezed through several estate sales in my neck of the woods. Each offered something different: one had some fabulous kitchenware, another touted newer furniture, and one offered dental floss, first aid tape, and a sleeve of Saltine® crackers.
I wish I took a picture of the sleeve of crackers. Take my word for it: There was a naked sleeve of Saltine® crackers nestled between a coffee mug and a knife, sitting on the kitchen counter. No, it wasn’t even in the box. Asking price: Twenty-five cents.
Never have I ever seen something like that for sale. Somehow, I just wouldn’t trust its freshness, age, or bug-free quality.
©Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.
Image found on Internet; source unknown.
Reading the neighborhood paper this morning, one of my breakfast table mates commented on an article:
“This guy is eighty years old. Hmmmm. Just for Men Brown. Wow. And he’s still boxin’. Can you believe it?”
My first thought was the term “boxin'” is slang for using boxed hair color, such as Just for Men.
The article actually was about an eighty-year-old man who is still a pugilist.
I leaned over the breakfast table to see the photo of the man in the paper. Just for Men on his locks, too. Yeah. He’s still boxin’.
©2017 Susan Marie Molloy, and all works within.
It’s a dreary day today. The skies are grey and murky. The air is heavy with humidity. The barometric pressure is making me and the dogs a little draggy. No photograph from me to share with you today. We’ve all seen blah days like this. Why overemphasize it?
So — how about a positive and fun story from me instead?
I noticed that today is National Dog Day, and I have a dog tale.
When I take one of my dogs for a walk, he pulls on his leash as if he is towing a block of stone for the Great Pyramid of Giza. Oftentimes, he pulls with so much gusto, he becomes bipedal. He gags and chokes and walks on his hind legs for several feet with all the grace of Monty Python’s silly walk.
This problem was solved when I fitted him with a fashionable brown leather harness. He took to it right away, and walking with him is now a pleasure. It’s more of a side-by-side stroll and less of a contest to see how hard he can pull on his collar.
I used to dread walks with him. Now it’s pleasant.
And normal-looking.©Susan Marie Molloy, and all works within.