Ruminations of a Red Dirt Hussy

February 3, 2016

The State of My Estate

Filed under: General — Vadasmaker @ 6:55 pm

It occurred to me last night that I can’t even begin to not patronize all the places that are against my principles. I mostly can only avoid Walmart, Chick-Fil-A, Hobby Lobby, 50% of the Koch brothers’ industries, and every inch of Hank Williams, Jr. and Mel Gibson.

Some things against my principles aren’t common. In fact, some people might even say my principles tend to be peculiar. Be that as it may, they are my principles, and I try to honor them.

But there was this one day last summer.. I must have been walking stupid that day because I did something I would never, ever do. I went to a freaking estate sale, and yes, there is too something wrong with it, in my opinion, and everything really is about me—and by the way, why don’t we stop arguing about that, people? It can just be an agreed-upon fiction. You know, like history?

I’ve gone to only one other estate sale in my life. You know whose estate it was? IT WAS A NUN’S ESTATE. A NUN!!! There she was dead, and her relatives had her underwear spread out all across a bed, folded and priced. Why would somebody do that?

In the first place, it’s unsanitary. In the second place, who’s to say chastity isn’t catching? Not that I would care, but still. And in the third place, if she weren’t dead she would be humiliated.

And it does too matter even if she’s dead.
You know why it matters? Because someday I’ll be dead. AND IT IS STILL ALL ABOUT ME, DAMN IT!

When I’m dead, there will be a lot of stuff I can’t control. No. Really. I mean, like, right now I’m still alive and I can’t control what Jim does when I’m not looking. I can’t control who other people vote for, even when I know they’re going to vote for a complete moron. I can’t control where my son moves. Even though he knows how much I despise TeXas, he moved there anyway. I can’t even control what comes out of my mouth most of the time, as you all well know.

I’ll bet things won’t get better when I’m dead, meaning I’ll probably have even less control, but I swear to God that if Jim has an estate sale to get rid of my stuff I will find a way to make him wish he hadn’t.

I mean, think about it, people. If somebody laid out all my stuff to be sold off, do you know what that would look like? Well, I’ll tell you.

• All that vintage underwear I had such a hard time retrieving after the Fire-ish Event of 2014? Even if I live to be 87 years old, I’m still going to have that underwear, and there it will be, spread out before Jon Stewart and everybody.
o The pushup bras
o The back-fat bras
o The bras that hide your side cleavage—that is too a thing, people. GOOGLE IT! There’s even toe cleavage, but I definitely would not Google that.
o The racer-back bras
o The bras with five-way straps, most of which are missing a strap
o The lace panties they don’t make anymore
o The invisible panties
o The panties with the seam up the back that’s supposed to make your butt look—well, I don’t exactly know. To me they always looked like panty hose with a run.
o The granny panties
o The high-cut panties
o The boy-cut panties
o The last full slip in existence, never worn, along with a half-dozen half-slips, also never worn—What are you going to see if I don’t wear them, my legs?
• 500+ CDs, including those 5 Kenny G CDs and 3 Yanni CDs I couldn’t even give away.
• My Snoopy rock a guy painted for me in 1974.
• My collection of pens, pencils, and highlighters, each one purchased or dug out of the office supply cabinet at school because I lost the one before it. There will be thousands of them, probably.
• 216 spiral notebooks with half the pages gone.
• 36 appointment books, barely used.
• My Jon Stewart shrine.
• A dump truck full of cowboy boots.
• At least fifty journals with nothing written in them.
• 22 Weight Watchers cook books.
• 72 pairs of jeans from size 6 to size 14
• Two large drawers full of socks without mates.
• A small drawer full of gloves without mates
• 114 band t-shirts, mostly Drive-By Truckers and James McMurtry

In the middle of writing that list, I realized I can’t take a chance of having my whole life put on display. I know what I’ll do. I’ll refuse to die. Or if I absolutely can’t get out of dying, I am taking all my shit with me.


1 Comment »

  1. Honestly, I think you are obsessed with underwear! When Hap died, he didn’t have enough clothing to warrant a trip to the MADD bin.I finally got to throw away his 10-year-old Fruit of the Loom rags, he still considered “just fine.” The only clothing of value were old sweat shirts (good for waxing the car) and a few high-dollar sweaters he never wore.I kept his pocket watch I bought for him one Father’s Day-that I dound in the bottom of his sock drawer. Speaking of socks, Hap had the perfect solution! He wore beige socks, same brand, same yellow toe, with everything. He had 25 pairs and one black pair (for formal occasions.) He never matched his socks, but tossed them willy-nilly into his top drawer.
    And I think you should hang on to that Jon Stewart shrine. Things have a way of coming back in style.
    I love you and miss you!


    Comment by pony tale girl — February 4, 2016 @ 8:33 am | Reply

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