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Self-Service is for Heathans

I went garage saleing by myself this morning because Beth bailed on me and B was worried about the strain on his delicate ankles so he stayed home to play Neversmack which is, apparently, great for delicate ankles.

I wasn't having much luck. It's the first weekend of the state fair, threatened to rain all day, and was pretty smoky from forest fires (remember, kids: only you can prevent forest fires, unless they were the boundary fires started last summer to stop the wildfires and have been smoldering all winter long)(!).

I ran into my pastor's wife at one sale crammed with all sorts of craft accessories sure to make any crafter orgasm right then and there. We chatted a bit and ignored the squeals of pleasure behind us. I told her I was really out searching for a bicycle.

Then later after I had been home a bit and B had squealed much like the crafters over a new blender, my wife's pastor pastor's wife called. She could barely remember my name this morning, and now she has my number! And she found me a bicycle at a garage sale that will stay open just long enough for me to haul ass down there!

That, my friends, is a full-service place of worship. I'll have to see what other kinds of things she can find for me.