The Upside Of Garage Sales

You know, with all my griping and moaning about the garage sale, I forgot to mention the fun stuff. Like the Little Old Lady Brigade who stopped by and picked over everything, howling and cackling as they ribbed each other and teased my husband. They were awesome to the nth degree. And not just because they bought a ton of my crap.

And the couple who caught a peek of Fraulein Greta in the garage and begged to see her in all her glory. Turns out they are also vintage VW enthusiasts. They were appropriately awed by her beauty, insisting that Mr. Clairol join them at their next Bus Club meeting. Yes, there are VW clubs. Some are split into specific makes, like the Split Bus Club, which celebrates the safari window buses. Other clubs are equal opportunity VW lovers. It's weirdly cool.

Or the man who cruised by in a '64 Austin Healey, only to break down in front of our house. I think God was rewarding my husband for something, because I haven't seen him that excited for a long time. He got to tootle around under the hood for a good half-hour, then came back for the floor jack, because things were getting serious. Turns out the guy had done some extensive work on it, but had fuel pump issues. I got a detailed explanation, but you don't really want me to try and recap it for you. Trust me, it wouldn't be pretty. I do remember that the car was worth about $40,000 and that they had put in a/c and repainted it, reversing the two-tone color scheme. This hurt my husband, who is a big fan of original paint. I personally would rather have a pretty car, but I just don't understand the magic of original paint. Whatever.

But my favorite? The couple who came in full Boy Scout uniform, his fuzzy, white man 'fro tamed by his cap, her uncut-since-'75 hair in all it's split-end glory. Patches blazing, sashes fluttering, sensible shoes kissing the pavement. She bought some of my bake ware, offering to share her recipe for multi-grain oatmeal bars. You better believe I took her up on that one. She promised to bring it by, sometime this week. And damn straight, I'm making it. That was a woman who looked like she knew multi-grains. And possible a legume or two.

So despite my whining, the G-sale wasn't all bad. Not good, but not a horrible, soul-shriveling acid bath either. But I'm upholding my vow. There's no way I'm ever doing that again. Of course, I said that after the birth of each of my children and look where I am now.