Still For Sale

September 18, 2009

Last night, around 5 o'clock, I was running around my house like a crazy woman, trying to get out the door to a meeting--which by the way, turned out to be the worst meeting I've had in a long, long time. It ended around 9 o'clock, with me standing in the parking lot of a fire house expressing the following sentiments over my cell phone: "You know, you're right, everyone does have a place where they can be most useful. His just happens to be in a vat of crap that goes right up to his neck."

That is not a joke.

Anyway, an hour before the meeting, I was an absolute mess. I had to run to grocery store for a box of almighty donut holes (as if anyone needs donut holes at a night meeting, right?), I still had to drop James off with his Grammie, and worst of all, I couldn't find a single thing to wear. And I mean that. I've long outgrown my professional clothes, my underpants chafe like they're made out of sandpaper, and I haven't done laundry in fifteen days.

Cut to me, digging through a box of workout clothes, looking for an elusive stretchy black skirt when the doorbell rings.

I ran to the door, swung it open, and was greeted by two guys I've never seen in all my live long day. Definitely not a set of Mormon missionaries, like I'm used to. This companionship looked like lobstermen, they smelled like lobstermen, and guess what? They actually were lobstermen from Damariscotta, Maine. One was tall and thin, the other was short and stout, and they both had a lazy eye. I kind of wanted to take a picture.

I, on the other hand, was half naked, half a step away from blowing my top, and fully confused--as usual.

The guys appeared to be somewhere in my age range, and they introduced themselves as "Norman" and "Clyde." Again, this is not a joke. I mean, maybe it was to their mother when she was drinking whiskey and pushing 'em out in a tavern somewhere--but as far as I could tell, their birth certificates could back them up.

Apparently, Norman and Clyde were at my house to look at the Blazer (oh yeah, because we still have it--a story for another day) and maybe take 'er for a test drive. Never wanting to disappoint a man of the sea, I tossed them the keys and was like, "Oh no problem, this is a perfect time to check out the car! But seriously, if you're not back in nine-and-a-half minutes, I'll make the time to stick an Indigo Girls sticker on the bumper of your Subaru Outback."

They were back in eight-and-a-half.

And there I was, standing in the driveway holding the title in my left hand, and my favorite purple fuzzy pen with my right. They stepped out of the Blazer and I was like, "So? What'd ya think?" And before they could answer I was all, "Give me six hundred bucks or a mulching lawn mower and she's yours!"

But they had questions. Like:

THEM: How come the speedometer don't work?
ME: Because it's an '89.

THEM: How come the tailgate don't open?
ME: Because it's an '89.

THEM: Why'd you decide to sell it?
ME: Because it's an ''re approaching your time limit here, boys.

THEM: How long've you had it?
ME: Since '89.

THEM: Why does it lean to the let so hard?
ME: Because. IT'S AN '89!!!!

I'm very sorry to say that they missed the opportunity of a lifetime and left my driveway empty handed. A shame really, '89 was a great year.

Let me know if you're interested.


blaine said...

Hey Amy, you drive it out to Utah and I'll swap you my lawn mower that requires the use of a bungee cord to keep the self propelled handle down and a hundred bucks. I'll park it next to my '96 Dodge Caravan that hemorrhages every fluid possible when I stop yet still runs then I can alternate vehicles (kind of like alternating shoes) so that they last longer.

Kim said...

yer funny.

Bloggin Betty said...

How did you miss the Cash for Clunkers program with that bad boy!?

Karen said...

Sounds like a deal if I ever heard one.

Miranda said...


The Three 22nds said...

Try Chamois Butt'r and spandex. It's awesome for chaffing.

JAMIE said...

'89 was a good year, I graduated from Middle School and started High School. Good times. I'd give you a lawnmower for your Blazer and I'd let it leak oil all over the road, with pride. :)

X-Country2 said...

Girl, I had a 1997 FIREBIRD sitting in my driveway for a f*cking YEAR. Why were we getting rid of it? Because my husband "upgraded" to a TRANS AM. I swear we aren't that trashy or redneck in real life, but I'm sure my neighbors judged. Hell. I judged us for 13 mo fo months.

Anonymous said...

I can't believe they didn't buy the Blazer...what a couple of freaks! LOL

chattypatra said...

What did they expect, a mint condition vintage car? As if you wouldn't be parading around town in it if that were the case. Jeez! A couple of fools, Amy. *sigh*

Chief said...

HOW DID I MISS THIS POST! Am I so self absorbed that I would miss one of Amy Lawson's posts?

I can not speak, I must go now