On Saturday, this gurl popped outta bed, threw on her overalls and donned a cap to attend a community garage sale along with a thousand of her closest friends.
Normally I would stay away from such crowds, but since it was a nice day and I was craving a drive, I decided to attend what I call the 'Picker Convention.' The sale was very organized and even had specific departments and a holding area to put your items (usually furniture) so no one else could snag them while you wandered around the rest of the sale. I let out a little sigh when I spotted a picker dragging a tulip table and chairs to the holding area. When I spotted the price tag of $45, I nearly fainted and was determined to find my own great deal.
After being elbowed by my fellow pickers in the linen dept., I strolled on to home furnishings, crafts, sporting goods, and vintage clothing. Nothing caught my eye. Feeling defeated, I decided to stand in line for the antique barn. Only a few people at a time were allowed in, but the wait wasn't long.
The jewelry counter was a bust.
No, I didn't want or need any more glass bottles-- but wait!
There... standing ever so proudly on the shelf of misfits was...
Hattie.
Oh, she was to be mine... this girl Hattie the Horse.
She looked familiar with that cute little smile.
Yes, she must be a distant relative of Coco's.
Yes indeedy.
After the sweet grannies wrapped up my purchase, I skipped outta the barn and wove my way around the ever increasing crowd of pickers toward my car and the next sale on my list--which turned out to be a hoarder house. Yuck. Ya can't win 'em all.
The end.
Note to self: I must croshay a lovely scarf to adorn Hattie's neck so she feels fashionable and fits in with the ever growing family of misfits living at the cottage.
