Thrift Store: a tiny (and bleak) blog post

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“It’s called Unique!” said a husky purple-haired girl to her friend.  “Cause everything here is so unique!”

They cackled.

“Oh my God,” the purple-haired girl said, picking up a giant ceramic baby duck.  Big hole on top.  “Most awesome vase ever.  Can’t imagine actually using it.”

“Maybe cattails,” her friend offered timidly.

“Oh God– look at this,” the big purple-haired girl gasped, pointing to a shoebox-sized wooden chest.  The chest was completely covered in overlapping decoupaged photographs.  “Can you believe somebody actually did this?  It’s so– personal.  Some people actually put these bad blurry photos of their family on– like– coffee mugs.”

I winced.  Standing a few feet away, I held a framed drawing of a girl petting a deer.  You see, a few Christmases ago, I’d ordered Walgreens mugs with photos of my mom and dad on them.

This is how we all end up, I thought.  Our photos.  Our personal items.  In a thrift store to be mocked by big purple-haired girls.

Well.

Could be worse, I suppose.

————–

Note:  Reading Updike’s “Rabbit at Rest” (no, didn’t read the other three– “always taking the short-cut,” my boss sneers) and something sad occurred April 10th and so thinking about death perhaps even more than usual.  Still, when things threaten to get too bleak, might be time to grab up a skinny Wodehouse paperback.

Thanks for stopping by.  Ciao and Aloha.

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