Estate sales have become all that jazz in my family. If there is one in the area, you can be sure you’ll find three redheads there. Me, my mom and my sister. My mother will be firmly gripping an old wooden rolling pin pondering if the price is right. My sister will be going room to room, mumbling something about never finding the perfect bookcase. You’ll hear me whispering to a piece of pottery with a bird painted on it. “Aw, it’s a bird.”
Or if you are lucky enough to be there, you might catch me in an act of indecent exposure.
Yes, that’s right. This girl can’t keep her knickers under control. Surprise, surprise.
The estate sale in question was one a few months ago. It was the lovely house of an elderly man who had passed away. The estate sale website boasted of all the antique items, works of a local artist, and a kitchen full of gadgets. My big find of the day was this lovely set of dishes.
My mother’s car was in a bit of a mechanical compromise at the time. It was on an early morning mission for me. Get up, feed the baby mockingbird, get ready, feed the baby mockingbird, ride to my mother’s house and retrieve her and my sister, ride back to my house, feed the baby mockingbird, head to the estate sale.
I wore jeans that day. I always wear jeans. It was going to be a scorching summer morning, but you weren’t going to catch this girl in shorts. A few nights before this Saturday morning, I went to an informal dinner meeting for work. I grabbed the pair of jeans I wore that night and slid into them that Saturday morning. What? I wore them for three hours at most. They were still clean! It was fine!
We finally found a parking spot on the typically quiet street and made our way to the house. This was my first estate sale. My mom and sister had one up on me since they had been to one before. I used them as my crutch and hoped to avoid embarrassing myself on my maiden voyage in estate sale land.
At the front door we signed in and then found a shaded area in the yard to protect our delicate Irish-Welsh skin. As the sun crept up the sky, we realized that we were soon going to lose any protective shadows. We moved back in front of the doorway and positioned ourselves to hear our names being called. The estate sale company was only letting a handful of people in at a time and we were way down on the list.
We settled comfortably in our usual inappropriate conversations such as but not limited to: what is that woman wearing, look at that man’s beer gut, is she wearing slippers, please shoot me when I get that old. It was during the discussion of one of those topics that my sister glanced down at my feet and said, “Did you drop something?”
The moment my eyes made eye contact with that ‘something’ I thought I was having a dream. You know, one of those dreams when you are at your locker in high school but you suddenly realize you are naked? Yeah, that dream. Except for in this dream, I wasn’t in high school, I wasn’t naked, but that was for sure a pair of my underwear sitting right beside my flip-flop.
Now, I’m sure you are thinking what I was first thinking. How in the hell did my underwear come off and slide out of one of my pants’ legs? It seemed so surreal and impossible until I realized that it wasn’t the pair of underwear I had put on that morning. No, that was the pair of underwear I had worn nights ago to the dinner meeting. Somehow, when I stripped down that night, my underwear had hung up in one of the legs … and now was lying on the ground for the whole world to see.
I pounced on those panties like a cat on a rat. I gathered them up quickly, unsure to put them in my pocket or in my bag. I decided quickly and stuffed them in my bag.
Oh, my family laughed and laughed. They laughed so much that I am so surprised I heard the names of the next people called in the sale. For better or worse, I did hear the names.
It was the names of the beau’s bosses who were standing unknowingly right beside us as the shimmied undies surprise was discovered.
For an added bonus, when I started pulling out cash to pay for the items I gathered inside my skivvies tried to make another appearance. “Oh look, it’s my underwear again. I can’t seem to keep those in the right place today.” The cashier stared, I giggled. I mean what else can you do at that point?
I squatted in front of a cardboard box and started packing away the dish set I bought. I tugged at the back of my shirt and said, “I hope I’m not flashing my britches at anyone.”
My sister came up behind me and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time today.”
“Funny, very funny.”
In the end, we all came out with some pretty good items. We headed home with all our new belongings, a good laugh and my reputation and underwear barely intact.