DINKs and garage sales

It’s been so nice out that I haven’t been able to make myself sit down and write this past week.

What I have done tho' is get the "seasonal" yard work almost finished and as a bonus, get the garage cleaned out.

What the hell were you doing cleaning the garage you might ask? I couldn’t find the damned weed sprayer and when I did see the tiny hint of it, I couldn’t get to it. 

Grrr!

Only because it was necessary, I cleaned and organized the garage that has been wallowing in basement cast-offs for the past year. By the end of summer last year, there was a path from the garage door to the inside door. If you needed to go anywhere in that maze of crap, you would need to tie a rope around your waist to find your way back (I exaggerate, but not too much).

I blame the DINK (Double Income No Kids) era of mine and Joe’s relationship. We had disposable income then and I had a home décor bug up my tuckus. When the whirlwind of destruction-otherwise referred to as Boybat-was toddling, a lot of that stuff went into storage and never came out. It made it from upstairs closets, to the basement, to the garage and is now destined for a garage “why would someone want to buy this” sale.

Mind you, I’m not having a sale, I’m commissioning my neighbor to tack it on to her sale, while I cross stitch outside on my lovely patio enjoying the sun and telling Boybat to quit trying to hit the neighborhood cats with his suction cup bow and arrow set.