Dallas Yard Sale

It’s the Saturday morning of the yard sale and I’m feeling … exhausted. I stayed up until past midnight sorting through closets and trying to organize what I thought I could and could not sell at a yard sale.  I became sort of manic about it, thinking that EVERYTHING was sellable at one point and even starting to search through my own personal things to see what I could get for it. This miscellaneous pile of chaos is where I netted out (plus at least 10 shelving units not pictured):

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I roll over in bed and hear it before I see it – it’s POURING rain. I haul myself out of bed, turn on the coffee, and resign myself to having a yard sale in the rain. Luckily for me, I left my 10×10 pop-up tent at my Dad’s before I moved to Ontario! So in the soaking rain, with my gum boots, my Dad’s plaid shirt, my skinny jeans, and disheveled hair, I begin trying to set-up the tent by myself.

Now, I have a lot of experience setting up tents like this from one of my previous jobs. But alone, in the rain, at 8:00am was never my favourite. At one point I think should just cry, because I am not strong enough to click the legs in. No. Though. No crying in the rain today. The people are coming TO ME to buy MY miscellaneous stuff.

I decide to put my big girl pants on and get it done. (I do a fist pump when I hear that first click and don’t even care who saw.) Then I grab my iPhone with my wet and sore hands and call my brother. He tells me he’ll be over in 4 hours and I yell at him to be there in an hour or I’ll sell his bike. He shows up 45 minutes later. By then I had already put out almost all the things, but people are actually showing up, so he mans the fort while I bring out more stuff.

We sell book shelves, little tables, a vacuum without its charger (I don’t know what the angry lady across the street is going to do with THAT), DVD’s and more. We don’t make much, but more than we had, and people TOOK things!

Being that I live in the middle of nowhere, I’m pretty impressed with myself and this odd twist of fate.

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