Find Me in Florida Again.

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How our estate sale is turning into the “days of our lives


I am tired of nonsense. I’m tired of people taking advantage of people who have lost someone dear.

They are the low life idiots. They are the brood vipers po dunk jealous white backwoods ill mannered monkey brains. Chimps are way smarter than those who need to be caged. They are worse or as low as those awful pretentious mommy holier than thou bloggers. They run packs of fools.

I am ready to call the VA about how those YoYos behave. Consumer affairs should also be called.

I’m talking about all the people have no courtesy when you have an estate sale. The attitude is I know he’s dead what’s it for me? Let me have a look, so I can be a white trash backwoods bully and laugh. Most cannot afford the life they aspire to because they truly don’t want to work. Those who do have my respect.

I’m normally a very nice person most of the time out loud off the blog here.
But this whole estate thing has been driving me nuts for the past two weeks. We are not giving this away for nickels and dimes they can’t afford.

Next sale we are charging $25 in deposit fee to get in. They can afford booze and cigs.

I had deep respect for my father-in-law Harry. He was a good guy.

I am appalled by the disrespect shown to a veterans family when trying to sell his furniture.

I should have taken pictures. The thing was getting funny by the second or third hour of it two weeks ago.

You’ve wouldn’t believe the folks that were coming up to the house. The estate sale was held inside because of the weather.

We had six Canadians who pulled up to the driveway from Nova Scotia Canada. How did I know they were from Nova Scotia,? The license plates said so. There are many of them who come down in the winter. These four ladies or five or six were cheap asses.

My favorite part was after I let them in and they just wanted to look… Just looooooook. “What are you looking for!?” I asked them. Most looked liked they were starting in the first phase of early dementia stared into blank space. Maybe they ate too much butter and that bad eating choice left them in “duh”.

They said “don’t know.” Wrong Answer. When the third Canadian came in, as we had the sale inside, it was worse. They wandered almost in circles. It was like they were scoping Yankee USA out for a confused invasion.

I stopped the next one dead cold before she could fish for “ooooo canada”””. Sorry Mrs. Cheap ass, no lighthouses here and no item for uhhh deeeeeluuuur.

Not sorry for my observation of them. Most were about 60 plus. They stuck out wearing witty bitty ankle socks, not Flip flops like us.

Ok, I said repeat after me because this is how it is here. There is only furniture here. My Pop in law didn’t fool with dusty nick nacks. He had better things to do.

Ooooo dear , one said not even bothering to look like she was listening.

I stopped her and her friend at the gate. “Are you looking for furniture??? M’aaam, I said, you need to listen this is not a just a little yarrrrrd sale. Stop now!!! There is nothing small here —noo jewelry. If you can’t answer what you want, I by law do not havvvve to let you into the deceased American Veteran’s house.”

More duhhhh of a look.

“Gee whose home house is this? Where am I??? Who are you? Why are you telling me to leave???” She stehhhp’d.

“I am his daughter in law asking you to leave, .” I said. ” You don’t know what you are looking for here. Ya can’t give me a straight answer about it. I can’t have ya wandering around somebody’s house. I m not being mean, just need who shop with a purpose and can answer a question. ”

I didn’t let them in. I didn’t have to do so. But the Canadian space lady brigade all stood around in their pack near Pop in law’s mailbox.

That was only day one, Friday.

The next was when another heavy lady with fat fingers and wrists and her husband showed up from Titusville – across the state. They also wandered. And they didn’t know what they were looking for either.

We have enough furniture, they said wandering. This was after they said they were shopping for it. Yes, we neeeeed it . The kitchen was marked off limits, but what did this redneck backwoods glut do??? Wandered into the kitchen even after I tried to stop him.

Then, his wife wandered to my nice table. “Ooooh, how nice.” Then her very fat arm and wrist and fat hand squeezed the upholstery on my nice dining set, while her set of red neck hillbilly manicure nails dug into it. Duh almost ruined it.

Those chubby hands went “cushy cushy like a charmen toilet arm was doing an unpaid commercial for the stuff.” It was disgusting. People who stick that much junk food in their mouth do not belong getting welfare manicures. Who was cushier? Her? The fat fingers ?? Or the chair?

Not morally sorry for NOT allowing her to step over this boundary I set. She was in our house. It was a lack of manners.

“Gee, you can afford your nice nails.” I said. “Don’t squeeze and don’t touch. I’m setting boundaries here. Time to go. This is disrespectful to him and my husband ‘s family”.

Nails really got into the chair fabrics. Awful. She and Spacecoast waddled out the door.

Awful. I’m sick of this.

And that is only the light of it. Boundaries are good. They are very good. I am sick of this.

My professional patience has low battery.


Author: findmeinfloridaagain

I am a middle aged lady who is married 16 years. I grew up here in the Tampa Bay area. I am from NYC and LongIsland. I met my Chicago husband here. We have many adventures here and consider most viewpoints and love dialogue on all topics. Dialogue brings understanding and understanding brings hope.

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