Yard Sale

We are having a yard sale today. It does not look like the one pictured, which looks like something out of Yard Sale Central Casting. Ours looks both more gritty and urban, with homeless guys dropping by and asking, "Can I have that can opener?" (Answer: "Yes") and more suburban, with bros driving by in a Lexus and asking, "Will you take $20 for that bed?" (Thought process: That's solid oak, cost about a grand when new, and you're driving a Lexus; actual words used: "No").

You hear people's life stories during yard sales, which is always a surprising thing to me. Complete strangers tell you about their health and job woes, the nice lawns that were attached to the homes they used to own, but which they no longer own, which explains why they're not interested in buying your weed whacker or leaf shredder, and where their grown-up kids are living now. I like that part of yard sales. Really, I do. I hate haggling over prices, which are ridiculously low to begin with, asshole, so don't ask me to knock off 50% from what is already a steal. I find it all an incredibly stressful way to make a hundred bucks or so.

Kate wants to do it again in the fall. She's on her own, but I may step out if people are sharing their life stories.