Tag Archives: flea market

Because you never know what my husband will bring up from the cellar …

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The search for items to sell at a flea market continues and things are being belched up from the basement at an alarming rate. I don’t know if he’ll ever actually go through with this plan, but he certainly is enjoying the trips down memory lane.

Today’s treasure?

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The 1967 version of an adult party game. And judging from the look on that woman’s face, insufficient martinis were consumed before play began.

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The game is simple. 24 cards are placed on top of the feely box, you draw one… then reach inside to pull out the corresponding item.

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Yes, those are teenie tiny dentures. 1967 sounds like a blast.

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It’s spreading like a virus.

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A fungus is currently taking over Casa River and it’s all I can do not to scream.

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It multiplies.

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It jumps from room to room…

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It’s covering every empty space and driving me crazy…

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But I’m not saying a word.

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I’m not nagging, I’m not bitching (out loud) because something miraculous has happened. I’m not sure I should even mention it lest I pierce the magic veil from whence it came… but here goes.

My husband… hoarder extraordinaire, the man who never saw a piece of junk he didn’t want to own… said he wants to sell some of his useless crap treasure at a flea market! Believe me when I tell you I almost passed out from the shock.

When … or even if …. this unheard of event will take place is anyones’s guess. But I’m doing my best to keep quiet and tiptoe around the plethora of rubbish that’s being vomited up from the cellar. If there’s the slightest chance some of it could disappear, it’s the least I can do.

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