There are several things that make me sad about going to my grandparents' garage sale recently. One is that many of my grandma's clothes were too small for me, which is still a little confusing. Apparently my brain is expanding at a slower rate than my waist since I've gone back to school.
Another is that I didn't even get a family discount even though I drove 45 minutes to their house. Yes, I paid full asking price for tchotchkes and granny clothes.
One more sad thing? I had to write a check. I wrote a check for $25 to my grandparents for their old crap they told me (later) that they were just going to haul everything to the dump that they didn't sell. FYI, the dump charges you to bring your stuff there. I'm regretting that I didn't make a note in the memo that read: you'd better leave me the house.
By the way, they spent most of the time I was there attempting to guilt me into visiting them more often. I'm working on snappy comebacks in my head that I'll never really share with them.
I'm not sure if all this beats the Christmas my grandma gave a 14 year old girl a garage sale Dynasty blazer with some used bras tucked into the inside pocket.