No, nothing really bad happened at this estate sale. It all happened in my head.
It all started at book club when one of my pals mentioned another member was busy working on an estate sale that would take place a few days later. "They have lots of antiques and ton of crafty stuff," Sarah said. "It's going to be a good one."
I refrained going on Friday. I do not need one single thing. Ever. But the thought of a second day's discount (and the fact that it was rainy and cold and Rick was doing an out-of-town 100-mile ride that day) led me to googlemaps and then to the house. Cars were lined up on both sides of the road. I viewed this as a good sign. I would be fed up with the crowds and leave quickly, dollars saved, no need to add anything to the pile.
The first thing I saw was the chintzware. I have a few pieces of my mom's and I thought, "This is so pretty. My colors. Spring. Wouldn't it be nice to have dessert on these little plates or serve home made macarons on this lovely larger plate."
I passed up the very nice stacked tables, thinking they'd be good TV tables or even art overflow tables. One was kind of wonky and wobbly and yes, I know me -- I'd knock it over in a heartbeat. But the buttons were nice!
A couple of cute Christmas items which I am convinced I will give away. Maybe. So, not pictured!
And then... the basement. This is where my freakout began.
The room was long and narrow. Imagine, if you can, several folding tables, two deep and several long, filled with plastic shoebox-sized storage boxes with everything under the sun. Ribbon. Stickers. Papers. Printed out collage sheets. Old cards. Stamps. Flowers. Tags. Embellishments. Books. Glue. Scissors. Napkins. Tools. More buttons. Work the woman had done herself.
There had to be 40 or 50 boxes. All well-categorized (probably the work of the estate sale people). Then there were Xyron cartridges, paper cutters, big stuff.
And another table with a huge box of Valentine-related and another of mixed holiday and more of her cards and on...and on... and on.
Fill a bag for $5. (Amazing what you can fit into an oversized lunch bag). Some things marked as bulk. As you can see, I was restrained but not good.
So, you might ask, where is the horror story in this? Apart from the fact that day two was only 35% off (not the expected 50%), the sale was fine. What wasn't fine was my head.
I came home and looked at my stuff -- not the new, but all the old stuff I already have. Now, mind you, this is stuff I am using. Not daily but regularly. I am not willing to part with it yet. But I couldn't help thinking "This is what my house will look like someday." Wall to wall tables with boxes of ribbon and cutouts, stickers and tape, books and mediums, buttons and papers, stamps and pens, feathers and glue guns, tapes and tags. Not to mention a few new old Golden Books. Or what will be left of them after my scissors go at it!
I'm still shaking.
Now granted, I hope I won't be here to have to deal with that. It'll be Rick's problem (or someone's!). He'll call the estate people and they'll put them in neat categories and say "fill a bag for $5" and that'll be that.
But I have seen the future. And it scared the heck out of me.
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