Last summer, I came home from work one warm Friday evening. The apartment was really warm and Byron had the windows closed. He had a good reason. A really good reason.
Rat Tail was holding his annual yard sale.
The front yard was filled with old furniture, tacky paintings, and gaudy knick-knacks. Rat Tail presided over the yard of crap, and in the midst of it was Mange Personified. The two of them spent the whole weekend talking to passers-by, each other, yelling at the child, and just being general know-it-all-assholes. Even though it was sweltering out, the windows were shut in the vain attempt to keep their shitty noise out.
Rat Tail is one of those douches who has been everywhere and done everything. When we applied for this apartment, we said Byron was in school for computers. Rat Tail started an internet company. When we painted our place, Rat Tail told us he owned a painting company. When we moved in, Rat Tail told us he owned a moving company. He's one of those guys. His place is filled with crap. Literally. The hallways are littered with dull baubles, musty rugs, and dusty paintings. He told us he owned a trading company and has been all over the world. That tattered paper lantern? Straight from the streets of Beijing. Those swords? From Indonesia. Those masks? From Africa. Oh Rat Tail has seen it all and done it all.
At these annual yard sales, Rat Tail hauls out his old furniture, lays them on the grass and apparently makes a small fortune off them. He bragged last year that he made over $2000 one year. As if.
Last year, there was a very worn burgundy chaise on the lawn. Mange, in her splendour, sat spread eagle all weekend on the chaise, hollering such gems as "when she acts up, I just swat her ass," speaking, naturally of her five year-old daughter. In her jammie pants, camisole sans bra, greasy hair and bare feet, she spent three days sharing her world view.
We ran into Rat Tail this evening. He told us that the great annual yard sale is on this weekend. If we have anything we're getting rid of in the move, we're free to bring it down for the sale. As if.
How fitting. On our final weekend in this hell hole, we get to spend three days listening to Mensa sell their crap. I will try my best to take photos.
***UPDATE - The yard sale was cancelled for some unknown reason. We are deeply saddened by this, and disappointed that the chance to snap a pic of Mange is lost. She's like the Yeti.***
Swattingly Yours,
xoxoSallyS
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