By Barbara Spear
The decision was made, we were going to have a tag sale. Well, not exactly. Some friends of ours decided to have a tag sale and invited us to join them. Anyway, I was ecstatic. This was a golden opportunity to weed out the junk that had been accumulating in the basement, attic, and garage -- and maybe pocket a little cash to boot!
The day after we agreed to join the merry group, my husband and I began to sort through the piles of accumulated clutter. The first round was easy -- you know, the wedding gifts that still had bows on the boxes and neither of us ever liked; the cooking gadgets I had to have, used maybe once, then abandoned; the ceiling lights we replaced, then saved just in case. In short order, there was a large outbound pile in the middle of the basement.
Round two was a little more difficult. We sorted through boxes of saved treasures, the contents of which hadn't seen daylight since being moved from our parents' houses years ago. Though we obviously hadn't and wouldn't use any of the stuff, my husband staunchly refused to give up his old cap pistols, and I stubbornly refused to relinquish my well-loved toy cars. We briefly looked at the massive collection of old LP records and decided to forego the arguments about the Beach Boys, Jan & Dean, and other scratched but treasured selections. The outbound pile continued to grow, but the pace was slacking off.
With four days to go before T-Day, my husband and I continued to scan closets, nooks, and crannies for unwanted overflow. On one trip to the basement pile, I discovered several of my plastic model Corvettes, still in boxes, sitting on the pile. Son of a __ I quickly put my rainy day project cars back on the shelf and retaliated by moving some camping gear into the pile.
The next day, the camping gear had disappeared, and in its place were some old Corvette magazines I'd been saving. Immediately, I filed them, and replaced them with dusty old copies of Guns & Ammo.
Two days before T-Day, things got serious. I found a box of Corvette parts in the pile. I might not have caught these, except that I got suspicious when I saw a lone box taped shut. This meant war. If things continued to escalate, that fool husband might try to sneak out my spare muffler, or the hard top. Rather than plunk his reloading "junk" into the pile, I decided to deal with the matter directly. When my husband came home from work, I met him at the door.
"You try to sneak out any more of my Corvette stuff and I'll launch a full scale attack on your hunting gear -- starting with your long undies! Got it?!"
My husband flashed his best little-boy-innocent smile -- the one all men acquire when they've been caught red-handed -- and mumbled something about a misunderstanding. Ponoccio's nose began to grow as he explained that he thought I didn't need or want the stuff anymore and he was just trying to be helpful by carrying it to the pile for me. Yeah sure!
The day before T-Day, I carefully checked the pile. There were no renegade Corvette parts or souvenirs. Maybe I'd gotten my point across -- but I was still nervous.
T-Day morning, we drove to our friends with both trucks loaded. We unloaded the stuff and the taggers began to arrive. About mid-morning, I heard someone ask, "How much do you want for these seatbelts?" Before my sneaky husband had a chance to quote a price, I raced over to the guy and said, "Sorry, these aren't for sale, my husband must have grabbed the wrong box from the garage." As the disappointed customer walked away, I glared at my husband. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me about NOW, before I go home and clean out your workbench?"
"Uh, just the box of posters over there." He pointed to a box of posters that I'd thought belonged to our friends hosting the sale. I rushed over and grabbed the box. As I carried it to my truck, I scanned through the posters. My autographed Duntov poster was missing.
"What happened to my poster?!" I exclaimed. My husband looked stunned, but pleaded ignorance. Just then, one of our friends stepped up and said, "Oh, I sold one of those posters about an hour ago, I got a buck for it..."
Well, the tag sale was, for the most part, a success. We did unload a lot of accumulated junk, and there were no more accidental auto part sales. But hubby, if you're looking for that limited edition Red Ryder BB gun-- I got a buck for it!
Copyright 1996 Barbara Spear
