I was never introduced to the joys of yard sales and flea markets until I was married. As a child, my wardrobe was made up of hand-me-downs but those things came from people we knew. I never thought it gross or strange; in fact, I looked forward to those garbage bags and banana boxes full of new styles.
Way back then, I thought rummaging through a stranger’s unwanted items was nasty and germy. After all, the junk was in their yard which was so close to the curb where garbage was left and hauled off. When I heard the word ‘Flea Market’ I only saw one thing in my mind.
When I was just a newlywed, my husband woke me one early Saturday morning and made the suggestion to visit a yard sale down the road. I groaned and made the comment of not wanting another’s junk in our tiny house. I told him I had never been to a yard sale and had no desire to ever start going. He was floored that for 22 years I had never been to one. Against my will, he made me go with him. He promised I’d like it; I was sure I wouldn't.
At first I wallowed around the junk at me feet and on tables too good to go digging but then something caught my eye, and then the price on the tag was even better. There was no turning back after that. The next Saturday it was me shaking my husband awake and pushing him out the door so we could find more yard sales.
Even after all those years, the thrill of that perfect find has never left. My husband and I are rather addicted to yard sales and flea markets. Sometimes we do well with finding treasure, other times we come back with nothing, feeling cheated in some way.
This last Saturday I did well with my finds. I couldn't be happier! Already I’m counting down the days until next Saturday. I just hope I have room for all my stuff!