Sunday, February 19, 2012

as long as he/she went to heaven...

I'm up in Bodega Bay spending some quality time with my very good friends, Brian and Brian.
On the way back from lunch yesterday, the Brians spotted some signs.
"Estate Sale."

When the Brians argued over when to stop, before or after lunch, I thought they were kidding. Nope. They stop at estate sales.


The toilet seat thing had some masking tape on it that said, "FREE." I wasn't able to capture that AND the tennis balls. I made a call.

Once we got home and looked through the photos, the Brians and I were laughing. $1350 for a stuffed animal. Haha. This was obviously mis-tagged. But then, Brian pointed out, "Even $13.50 is ridiculous for this!"
Everything else in the house, literally, was like, a dollar. Why, you guys, is the monkey $13?

For example, all the stuff on this bed was $0.50. At this point, in this bedroom, Brian D. walked outside and waited for us to finish. He was DONE.


These two (on the left) were taking photos of themselves outside. It was so interesting to me that such a dark, drab 'estate sale' home could sit in such a beautiful area. There are lots of homes in Bodega Bay that kinda suck; they're dusty and sad and have saloon doors in the kitchen, like the house today.
The Brians' home here isn't like that at all. It's big and weird, but open. It has appliances that have 14 different pasta settings. (We had bucatini tonight.) The Brians managed to find a funky house that they could fix up and slowly evolve into a warm, snuggly, sprawling beach house. As opposed to today's 'estate sale' house, which proclaimed on masking tape, "Pillow cases: 50 cents."
Brian D. stood outside muttering, "Let's go. This is gross."
"Oh!" I said. "I need pillow cases."
Brian L. looked at me and deadpanned, "This is dead people's stuff."
I stared back at him. So?
He screamed it, "I will call your mother and say, 'Joanne, Beth is about to spend two quarters on the pillow cases of a dead person.'"
Brian looked at me as if my mother would run to Restoration Hardware, throw her credit card at the staff and scream "Pillow cases! My daughter needs pillow cases!"
But Brian doesn't know.
I am my mother's daughter. My mother is my grandmother's daughter. And a 50 cent pillow case is a 50 cent pillow case. Even if someone died on it...

3 comments:

Seana said...

50 cents for the "red hat"?!! Was there a purple dress in the closet?

Jay Gatsby said...

Imagine her estate sale.

They just hauled her out -- heels, sunglasses, hat and all -- and the show went on. Thoughts?

Beth Spotswood said...

I can't think of a better way to go! That broad looked like a badass.
Also, that's some faux-hawked security guard gallantly carrying her to the morgue.