Same crap, different yard

We had enough "good" stuff left over from last month's yard sale at our house to have another one. Kelly's friends Erin and Shawn, who also had a lot left over from the stuff they brought to our house for the yard sale, volunteered to have one at their house. We were thinking since they live further out that we'd have a new crowd of people and sell the rest of it. What we didn't plan on was for a couple hundred yard sales to be happening around town at the same day. I definately can't say we set any yard sale world records with the what that we sold. It was such a slow day that we wondered if our listing was even printed in the newspaper. There's something about yard sales that inspire me to write poems in our advertisements. In the past, we've found that people are intrigued enough by a creative ad just to stop by to see what all the fun is about. Here's a little garage sale poetry:

We're having a yard sale rain or shine,
We'll be in the barn so look for the sign.
Three families have gathered lots of items to spare,
Come at 7 so you can get your share.
Fill your trunk, fill your backseat,
Bring your friends because there's enough for a fleet.

Our favorite customers of the day were this older couple, maybe in their mid-70s. The gentleman asked what we would take for all the clothes, socks, and shoes, because he donates them to his church's clothing bank for needy people. While we were making him a good deal, his wife was doing a little shopping of her own. This good old Baptist couple were closet partiers! We got a good laugh from her buying 9 1/2 Weeks, Striptease, The Devil's Advocate, Troy and a couple other movies. You go, girl!


Our entertainment for the day came from Erin and Shawn's barn yard animals. The horses and goats stayed away, the ginny hens and rooster made sparatic appearances, but the month old kittens stuck with us all day. The kitten sisters frolicked, wrestled, inspected, jumped in and out of boxes, and played until they passed out from exhaustion. Their favorite game was to hide in the box of Christmas greenry and surprise each other (and unsuspecting people looking through the box!).


I spy a kitty!

Bad move kitty! Don't do it! Roosters are not fans of ambush attacks.

After playing for eight hours straight, the kittens were tuckered out. They found a box lid under a yard sale table and passed out spooning each other.

An hour later...they were still out. We moved the box lid, we petted them, people were walking all around them, but they never cracked an eye or made a peep.

The Ladies, as they are known around the farm. A month ago Erin and Shawn had seventeen baby ginny hens, but now there are only two left. They spend the day as a group, with Rooster trailing closely behind, wandering around the property pecking at the ground.

Mr. Ginny Hen. Why are male birds always so much prettier than females birds?

His name is Rooster and he's a bad motherf...shut your mouth! Rooster gets his feathers in a frenzy when people he does not know come on the property. He paces, he crows, and he stalks. Just as Erin was yelling at Kelly, "DON'T MAKE HIM MAD. DON'T CHARGE AT HIM, KELLY!" My sister looked Rooster square in the eye and made a motion to shoo him away and sort of lunged forward. Well, that did it. She thought the bird was going away so she turned her back to return to setting junk out on the table, but instead Rooster was flapping his wings and getting ready to attack. His M.O. of attack is the minute a person turns their back on him, he comes at them and digs his spurs into whatever body part is easiest. Erin yelled at him, Kelly yelped, and Rooster backed off before he made his move. He stalked my sister for the next couple hours and even the threat of her with a meat cleaver didn't stop him.

Today's sheets of rain downpour waited until mid-evening to happen which was very considerate of the clouds if I do say so.