I hear your freakish screams of agony, friends.
But I won’t have it.
Recently I watched a new show on A&E called Hoarders, and I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I was to see that nothing being pulled out of the homes of these folks was going to a yard sale. Much of it was being turfed into the back of a 1-800-Got-Junk truck (pure marketing brilliance right there, air-five) and it made the garage-saler and sustain-inista in me itchy to think of what could be reused by someone else while bringing in a little bit of extra cash to the (soon-to-be-ex) hoarder.
(shh, hey, come here… I’m not going to lie, there are moments when I know the only reason I’m writing this is because of the delight that comes from emphasizing the word hoarder in all the wrong places. Did I mention that I come from a woefully conservative family? Pity me.)
All I ask for is a little yard sale love. Why? Because you’re not consuming! You’re reducing! And others are reusing! And you get a little cha-ching to take a day trip with the kids! (unless you’re childless and living in an exorbitantly over-priced city, in which case you’ll have a little cha-ching to get a puppy-cut for Muffy and an organic non-fat no-foam half-caf latte for me. What? You totally owe me for this one you big whiner.)
This is Louie. He has hoarding issues.
