Spring is approaching fast, and in East Texas that means the arrival of several things I don’t like.
Pollen, another time change and mosquitoes rank high on the list.
I don’t suffer from allergies, but I own a black truck that turns snot green this time of year thanks to pollen.
Since it’s time to “spring forward,” we all lost an hour of sleep overnight if we actually remembered to set our clocks ahead. The fact we still do this ridiculous thing twice each year is almost as dumb as having to tape “spring forward, fall back” to my bedpost to remind me if we lose or gain sleep.
I just turned 55. I fall back like a champ, but my springing forward needs work.
Mosquitoes? I still haven’t forgiven Noah or his wife — Joan — for letting them on the Ark.
That said, probably my least favorite thing about the spring is the sudden outbreak of garage sales that pop up all over East Texas.
I realize coming out against garage sales is akin to talking bad about high school football, barbecue and little old lady church food, but I stand firm in my belief the only good garage sale is one that got rained out.
I don’t dislike visiting a garage sale as much as hosting one, but both rank slightly above a root canal in my book.
If I had to choose, I’d pick going to a garage sale. I’ve found some decent bargains through the years. I’ve also seen grown women knock down little kids to get to a 50-cent bottle of perfume someone is getting rid of because its odor would chase a swarm of East Texas mosquitoes away from a blood mobile.
We live on a corner in a busy neighborhood — the perfect location for a garage sale, I am told. We’ve done a couple in the almost 21 years we’ve owned the house, which is odd, because after the first one I recall my lovely wife saying “never again.”
Evidently, hosting a garage sale is like giving birth for some women. They see another garage sale, forget all about the pain of the previous one and want to host another one of their own.
I won’t shoot down the idea, but if Rachel ever decides we need to go through that anguish again, I have a few rules.
1. I don’t haggle. If it’s marked 50 cents, it’s not leaving my yard for less than 50 cents. I’ll keep it until Jesus comes back before I drop the price on something I’m already practically giving away.
2. If the ad in the newspaper says we open for business at 8 a.m., don’t show up at my house at 7 a.m. and start digging through our stuff or griping that something isn’t priced yet. If you do, I’ll unleash a 12-pound Yorkie Poo and a 5-pound Yorkie on you. Sarge and Bentley look harmless, but I have yet to bring a toy into the house they can’t destroy in less than five minutes.
3. If you walk away empty-handed because you didn’t find anything you like, I don’t want to hear any whining. I didn’t like the stuff either. That’s why it’s on a table with a 50-cent sticker on it.
Besides, you showed up early, parked illegally, let little Lucy(fer) break the one breakable item in the entire garage sale, got mad when I wouldn’t take $5 for the neighbor’s $500 lawnmower (it was parked on the other side of the shrubs because the kid mowing the neighbor’s yard was taking a water break) and then called your friend to tell her there was nothing but junk at my garage sale.
4. Don’t ask me to load whatever heavy stuff you buy at my garage sale into your vehicle. I know it’s heavy. That’s why it has been in my garage for 10 years instead of me loading it up and taking it to the dump myself.
Follow these simple rules, or I’ll show up at your house at 6 a.m. every Saturday for a month, bang on your door until you open it and then offer you whatever change I have in my pocket for random items on your front porch.
And, I’ll bring Sarge, Bentley and Lucy(fer) with me.