Little Z and I went to a garage sale today, the first of the season. There was a fifty-something guy tending a lot of women's clothes, knic-knacks, cookbooks, and such. There was a whole huge box of vacuum cleaner bags dating back half a century.
"My wife never threw away anything," said the man. "When she got a new vacuum cleaner, she had a cupboard, in went the old vacuum cleaner bags, in went the new vacuum cleaner bags. She never got rid of anything."
I went on to examine a funny looking owl cookie jar.
"Kathy collected cookie jars, too," said the man. "I had about thirty of them, and all but that one went in the first two hours this morning! It's funny the stuff people will buy."
I tried on a pair of shoes.
"What size are all the shoes?" I asked.
"Oh, they're probably a six and a half or a seven." The shoes didn't fit me right. "I remember when she tried on that pair, too, and they never quite fit her right. She was so disappointed."
I was beginning to feel like I should ask when she died, but I just didn't feel like taking on that burden, today. I felt selfish. I didn't want to hear his problems.
I settled on a cookbook.
"Kathy never saw a cookbook she didn't like. The last garage sale I had was full of cookbooks, that truck over there filled to the top! By the end of the day, only one book left-- hey, there she is now! Don't mind the dog. He's just friendly. I think Kathy forgot the leash."
A car pulled up, and a gynormous dog jumped out, as did a very healthy looking fifty-something lady named Kathy!
"Sorry, I forgot the leash!" said Kathy. "Does she want to pet the doggy?"
Much ado was made over Little Z petting Kathy's dog.
I was speechless.
That guy really needs to stop talking about his wife like she's dead!