The Garage Sale

“Look, the purse department,” Sandy announced, waving her arm as if she were a pudgy Vanna White. “We have all brands, all price ranges, all seasons and all styles.” She laughed. “I hope we can sell some of them, I’d be embarrassed to take fifty seven purses to good will.”

“Oh, it no one buys them, I’ll offer free things. You know, buy one purse, get a George Foreman grill. Buy two and get your choice of Swiffer.” Jane giggled. At least it was a beautiful day for a garage sale. And since there were four different George Foreman grills, the idea to give one away with each purse would actually help the small appliance department clear out.

“I’ve never been to a garage sale with departments before,” Sandy said. “Did your mother have some secret testing deal with small appliance manufacturers?”

“No, she just never could decide how big a George Foreman grill she needed. The single was good for her, but she got the double so she could cook for her dog at the same time. Then she got the family sized one for when she had company.” Jane originally thought her mom was a typical Depression Era woman who had to use and reuse everything, and now could have nice things so she bought all the nice things. But her mom was born about twenty years after the Great Depression, so there went that excuse.

“I thought she always went out when she had company.”

“That is why the big one is still in its original packaging.” Jane pointed at the shrink-wrapped box.

A small blue haired woman was inspecting a black patent leather Marc Jacobs bag. She held it up and called over to Jane. “Maura had a pair of black pumps that went with this bag. Do you remember where they are?”

Jane thought a moment. There were so many shoes, so many black shoes. Sandy came to her rescue.

“I know where they are. And it just so happens, we have a shovel over here for only five dollars.”

Jane stifled a laugh. The woman shook the purse at them “You buried her in $400 shoes?” She tucked the purse under her arm and walked over to the card table where Jane and the cigar box of proceeds waited. “You could’ve at least buried the purse too. They were a set.”

The shovel would work for that too, if you want to fix the problem, Jane thought.