The Day of the Big Tag Sale

Well, here it is six a.m. on the day of our first big tag sale. I just put David down for a nap (yes nap, that’s how early he got up this morning) and Kristen is rushing to get final details in place before we open our little Concord Street junk store to the world. This whole project has been planned and executed by K and Cat, with the dual aim of clearing out some junk and earning enough to pay for window boxes for the front of the house. Which are both noble causes … though not noble enough for me to sell any of my books. Not even the awful paperback pulp fiction I bought in airports … like I told K, what if I want to start a used book store someday?

Remember all the lame, sexist sit coms in which the husband lingers on as the periphery as the wife plans the tag sale, then discovers that what she really wants to do is sell his stuff?

K: How much should we sell this old racquet ball racquet for?

E: I love racquet ball! That’s my racquet!

K: I’ve never seen you play…

E: I played every week in college.

K: Oh.

E: I might need it again.

K: Oh.

E: Well, I might.

And I’m not the only one who’s having a hard time parting with things. In K and Cat’s cases, though, it’s each other’s things they don’t want to give up. As they were pricing things Thursday night, there was more than one wistful “Oh, you’re selling that?” Which inevitably results in, “Oh, do you want it?” Which leads to, “Oh, I shouldn’t but…”

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