Off the beaten path of riding 100 miles for cancer, I have a unrelated post. Gird up, this is a good one.
During the course of my life, and even more specifically the marriage of my wife, there have been little odd things that have happened. They’re small and sometimes insignificant, but it is in these moments that I thrive. If I catch it, watch out. While I suppose I am funny sometimes, I’m not funny all the time. When I am funny though, it tends to bring the house down.
So in a Twitter conversation about the word ‘douche’ I was reminded of such times. I am quite certain everyone knows what a douche is, but in the even that you don’t, here it is, as defined by Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douche
It’s obscene, I know. Why would anyone, let alone a man, write about such things? Believe me when I say that it has not been my goal to write about such things except that it ties this story together. I know, I know, how does a douche tie things together. Please note that I’m not referring to any of the cast of Jersey Shore, but the actual tool.
I have always had a tough time getting my wife to go out and go garage sale shopping. It’s an effort. People are rude, and even weirder, people selling stuff that they would otherwise throw away but in the last death throws of making a buck off of their junk, they are a bit possessive and uppity about the stuff they’re selling. Toss in the need to root through said junk to find that gem worth a dollar or so. Is it worth it? 90% of the time, no.
So one day, we were perusing some items at a town house. In this area, certain town house communities are less than, and have the desperate selection of items. On any given day, I would avoid places like this, but for some reason, here we are. When I say desperate, I’m not being mean, nor am I alluding that all townhouses have these desperate selections. This particular townhouse area was in this bracket.
As my wife and I are looking around and assessing the goods, something caught my eye. It was in the back on a table by itself. I suddenly felt like Indian Jones, looking upon a treasure trying to calculate how to remove it without upsetting the natives. There were a number of people at this sale, and it could ultimately be a precarious situation. I approached the table. I had a heightened sense of things, and it seemed as though the world around me suddenly slowed. I easily moved through the crowd as though I wasn’t there. I looked over my shoulder to discover that my wife had also seen what I had seen. Additionally, she saw my approach. Her eyes widened with disbelief as she and I have been together long enough for her to know what is going through my head. She can see an opportunity when it arises, and horrifyingly recognizes when I will seize the moment and embarrass everyone without prejudice. This was that moment.
I made it to the table. The lone box of Summer’s Eve sat there. The early morning light was blocked by the trees, save the one ray of light that navigated it’s way through the branches to spotlight this garage sale gem. I was there. I looked at it. It was scientific, really, in assessing the box, if it was opened, used, empty, whatever. It was unused. I looked back a second time to my wife, who was shaking her head with the same horrified look on her face as I blurted out loud enough for everyone to hear, not knowing who the original owner of this treasure is. I might as well ask everyone. So I did.
HOW MUCH FOR THE DOUCHE?
My wife closed her eyes, and walked back to the car, shoulders sagging in defeat. I got an answer. The answer, I don’t remember, but the level of security and sureness of the woman’s answer shook me to the core. She was being serious. I lamely said ‘never mind’ and quickly made my way out, not nearly as smooth as I had come in. It was upsetting. I don’t think grocery stores even really sell this stuff, and here this woman had one for sale at a garage sale. All eyes on me, I bolted. While in the car, I gave out a sigh of relief. I laughed, desperately, but honestly in knowing that I just did something that would be talked about for years to come.
My wife and I have never been garage sale shopping again.
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