A few weeks ago Betsy and I went on our normal garage sale’ing. Speaking of, how do you spell sale’ing? Is it saleing? Do you drop the E and make it saling? I know we weren’t sailing from garage to garage so that doesn’t make much sense. Have I done this joke before?
Where was I? Oh yea. We were sailing from garage to garage when we happened upon an estate sale. I’ve said this before but just in case you missed it, estate sale is what they call a garage sale so they can charge more.
Usually you have a bunch of random stuff from somebody that’s passed away but it’s already been picked over by the kiddos. They have beds that have been around since civilization moved from roaming to farming and refrigerators that still require you to put ice in them. Then they want bills larger than a 5 for most of the junk!
This is the part where I tell you this one was different.
And It was!
They were only doing it for one day and they weren’t fuckin’ around. They wanted this shit sold and they wanted it sold now. Stuff was marked down to bottomed out prices. Betsy and I were roaming through there like sharks in chum infested waters.
We entered the kitchen and all sorts of super old things were laying around. That’s when I landed my eyes on these babies.
Pyrex nesting bowls with lips in great condition. It was post-noon which in garage sale time might as well be midnight. All the old people have rummaged through things, had dinner and gone back to bed by noon. Even the rednecks have already hit up sales and headed back to their porches and ‘possoms.
They wanted $30 for the set and that seemed pretty good but I’ve never been one to pay full price at a sale.
A few rooms later net’d us floor to ceiling cook books and the find of the century.
It was the recipes of the old lady that passed away. I can’t even begin to fathom why this was sitting there for sale. Granted, some of the recipes are stuff she cut out and things like that but there’s lots of hand written ones too.
As you can see they are expertly divided in a shoe box. Some of the slots are empty though which leads me to believe they might have nicked a few of the family favorites (those bastards)!
I can’t imagine selling my grandmothers recipes though. Even if there was only 1 thing she made that I liked there is no way I’d get rid of them.
We grabbed ’em and trounced up to their pay table.
“The bowls are $30 and $3 for the recipes, $33 please.” The teenager said.
“How about $20?” I countered. She was certainly out of her league here. That and you could tell she didn’t want to play Haggle(TM).
“$23?” She asked quizzically (is that a word?). I fished around in my pocket, looking like I was giving in when all I could find was a $20.
“Would you do it all for $20? It’s all I have.” Puppy eyes and pouting sealed the deal.
That’s right. I stomped that bitch in the game of Haggle(TM).
I grabbed my shit and we strut’d out there like we just pee’d in all the corners of the house.