It’s yard sale season. I’m scheming to have one myself but in the meantime, I like to drive past other people’s yard sales and assess what they’re selling. The person around the corner was selling a dollhouse that got snapped up. Good find. As we drove to Target this morning, I was talking about living in a place with land where I had goats, bees and maybe some sheep for Georgie to keep in line.
“You should learn to make goat cheese.” Andrea suggests.
“Oh yeah! I could do that!” I say.
When Andrea asks if she can get a bunker, I say no, “Not like a doomsday prepper bunker!” Then we drive past a garage sale where they are selling several HUGE cans of tomatoes. Like 3-gallon cans of tomatoes. They had a plastic tub of what looked like a pound of paprika atop the tomatoes. “Huh. Looks like maybe they are opting out of the doomsday business.” I say. Part of me want us to pull over so I can flip the can over and look for an expiration date. Instead, we continue on to Target to get the three items on our list: toilet paper, peanut butter (for the dogs), and dog treats.
The toilet paper is dire. We ran out earlier this week and have one roll left in our upstairs bathroom. Which means that every time I have to go to the bathroom on the first floor, I tear off a “select your own size!” paper towel. The select your own size is a handy feature – you select your size based on if you have to go #1 or #2. So basically, it’s like toilet paper but more industrial. Target was having a “buy 2 games, get one free!” sale on games. Which means we left Target with far more than 3 items. As usual. We get to our car and Andrea unloads it as I wheel our cart away to a cart return. The kid getting into the car next to ours lets out a cough and I’m fairly certain she has tuberculosis and I hope we don’t get it.
“I read this article about how you can use your hair dryer on cool to dry under your boobs.” I say. “Like all day?” Andrea asks. I look at her like she’s crazy and say, “Exactly like that.” Later on, we’re driving to meet up with a work colleague of mine and his wife for dinner.
“I told him you’re funny so don’t act shy and fuck it up.” I say.
Andrea was suitably funny and when we came home, I discovered that Georgie had pulled a shirt out of my overnight bag, ripped the side of it out and presumably ate it. I simultaneously hate him and hope he can shit this out. He goes to camp this Thursday and I’m praying he comes back reformed. I don’t own a lot of clothing and this is the 2nd shirt of mine he’s destroyed. Andrea bought Georgie a whistling dog Frisbee while at Target (not on the list) and he kind of sucks at it. All that energy and he can’t catch the damn thing mid-air?
Later on we notice our toilet paper says, “27 rolls last 27 weeks” and the fine print suggests this is based on an average household size. Our household of two has to be below average and this cannot possibly last 27 weeks.
“That’s over six months!” I exclaim.
“We use a lot of toilet paper here.” Andrea agrees.
I think that’s one thing Andrea could stock up on doomsday style. And we wouldn’t have leftovers to sell at a garage sale.