Off the Editor’s Spike: Opportunity knocks

by Darryl Wilkinson
I told my Mrs. how we’re missing an opportunity. This weekend is the Citywide Garage Sale and we’re missing the chance to progress away from closet clutter by not participating. Of course, such activities fall under her responsibilities if anything on our front porch happens. So she stopped me cold with just one of those “You really want to talk about this?” looks I’ve learned to respect.
But reminders about my need don’t go away.
You don’t wade deeply into my wardrobe to see how the rubble is slowly pushing out the walls of the closet … maybe not a pair of wing tips or two pairs of white bucks but certainly a pile of shirts that don’t quite stretch the acreage across my middle as they once did. At least there are no polyester leisure suits with wide lapels. You have to go to the storage closet that opens to our guest room to get those.
Yes, I admit I’ve never been the model of fashion. I was brought up properly in that regard.
Before the era of Ebay, my mother frequently visited a salvage business specializing in fire-damaged merchandise. I spent many a long, lonesome hour walking the aisles of that warehouse while mom scavenged for bargains. I was usually left alone to roam and, truthfully, there was enough damaged freight to keep any boy like me below driving age quite busy for a while. There were things for sale you could eat, although only those sealed in cans were worth the risk; buyer beware.
Anyway, mom knew how Levi jeans were all the rage of an almost teenager like me and one time, when I was unable to accompany her in the hunt, she caved in to my desire to be hip among my friends. She bought over a dozen pants in my current size – and added another dozen or so for good measure in anticipation of the sizes I’d likely wear from that time to full manhood.
Price, not fashion, drives decisions in our household. Mom only worried about whether all the water stains would wash out. I was not consulted. So, it was later at home when I discovered this huge stack of pants in my bedroom, all the exact same color (a kinda puke lime green) and style (tight legs, when loose legs or bell bottoms were in style). Immediately I knew my doom: No new pants in my foreseeable lifetime. The price must have been right and mom was confident regardless of my reaction … bolstered by that huge sign at the checkout counter: “No Returns.”
It was God’s blessing, though. While other teenagers developed and honed a keen sense of fashion to stunt their maturity, I stood firmly denying frivolous fashion, wearing puke green pants. For years. Even today my wardrobe proves the lesson learned.
Yes, every piece of clothing at a garage sale has a story. There’s probably a pair of slightly worn puke lime green Levi’s somewhere in my closet, a collector’s oddity that could be priced right for Saturday’s Citywide Garage Sale. It might be the best pick among other scarcely-worn duds that we could share with the curious arriving at the garage or front porch this Saturday. Behind every bargain is a testament to live by: Buy stuff you really don’t want or actually need and someday you can have a great garage sale.
But only if your wife wants to.