The Gypsy Who Fell on My Face

Today’s sales exhausted me. There were ten of them, spread all throughout my county, and it was deathly hot outside. I’m talking like 80 degrees. Doesn’t that just sound like murder, people who live farther south than New England?

Thankfully, there’s something later in this post that could help me, let’s say, “decompress” after a long morning of saling; but we’ll get to that in a bit. First up is chairs.

Now, I couldn’t just let this go by without discovering what “the best seat in the house” actually was, and how it could possibly fit into such a slender cardboard box. The answer: It’s a toilet seat. (Of course it’s a toilet seat.) A toilet seat that, judging by the packaging, might actually be older than me. Just imagine how many naked rear ends have already been on this. Naked rear ends that you don’t even know.

Also, I like how the drawing implies that you’d bring this along with you to the theater. “Yes, that’ll be one ticket to Spiderman: Turn off the Dark. …Yes, I know how bad it is. Don’t worry. I came prepared.”

And hey, speaking of Things You Shouldn’t Buy Used

A “gold”-plated razor and toothbrush set! The perfect gift for literally anyone who has hair and/or teeth. The set is purportedly unused; I’m guessing they just forgot to set up a little sign that says “all those neck hairs came with it, we swear.”

…Gosh, I hope those were neck hairs.

Later sales were also hawking big balls and tampons (there’s a boost for the ol’ SEO!), and this slightly terrifying Gypsy woman:

Okay. This probably isn’t that creepy for anyone who, I don’t know, enjoys puppets, or is actually a Gypsy. But here’s how my thought process immediately went:

What if this thing was in my home? What if the power went out, and all I had to navigate my darkened, cramped apartment was one little flashlight that could only produce a very faint light? What if I was bumbling around, just looking for a box of Cheerios or whatever—brushing cobwebs out of my eyes (because in this scenario, blackouts immediately cause cobwebs to spring up like Ron Paul fans whenever somebody mentions his name), and then THIS FELL ONTO MY GODDAMN FACE:


Right? Right?! I hope you were already a puppet-phobe before you read this. And hey, if that doesn’t get you…


…Man. I’m a lil’ freaked out now; what about you? (P.S. Don’t look up.) Didn’t I say earlier that I found something that might help a person “decompress” after traumatizing experiences like this? “Unclench” might be an appropriate word, as well. I think it might be time to bust that out.

Before I show it to you, though, I feel another brief pause is in order. A chance for you to clear your mind. Close out that Facebook window (it’s okay; people will still be shouting incomprehensibly about politics when you get back), and just breathe.

Just breathe, and let it all out.

…And if you can’t “let it all out,” boy do I ever have the cure for you.

YES! YES! YES! The table next to it should give you some perspective—that is a four-foot tall thermometer, advertising chocolate that can help make you poop better. Why a thermometer? Who knows! Maybe when it hits 140 degrees, you know it’s definitely time to start popping the Ex-Lax, because most doctors agree it’s really hard to defecate when all your skin is boiling off.

They were trying to get over a hundred bucks for this, but still: If you owned that, why would you ever stop owning it. It’s the ultimate discussion fece! I mean piece! I bet the dude’s wife made him get rid of it. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times—put the enormous Ex-Lax thermometer away when my parents are over!” “But there’s nowhere I can stick it…” “Oh yeah? I’ll tell you exactly where you can stick it!” “THAT WILL JUST MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE, MAUDE.”

They were also selling popsicle soap:

Man, doesn’t just looking at that make you feel more clean? Excuse me, I need to zoom in a bit…

AHHH. THAT’S THE STUFF.The tinge of brown discoloration and what appears to be an expiration date definitely make me want to just unwrap that and rub it all over my body. Just don’t mix it up with actual popsicles. PLEASE, JUST DON’T MIX IT UP WITH ACTUAL POPSICLES.

There was one more estate sale I hit today, but I think I have to save it for a later article—not because I’m stockpiling posts for a post-apocalyptic future (although that is true), but because…well, I think it deserves its own write-up. Stay tuned.

Total spent: $0.00

7 thoughts on “The Gypsy Who Fell on My Face

    • That is NO WAY to yardsale. Back in the day, we used to pull all the yardsale ads from the newspaper and follow those, but I think they stopped making newspapers a while back.

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