What a Bunch of Garbage


I was an Army Brat.  I use capitalization because I believe it’s a real title.  Army Brat.  I should put that on my resume.  One of the places I lived as an Army Brat was Germany.  Some of my greatest memories stem from that time.

There was a family that we were very close with.  Another Army family.  We did some pretty awesome things with this family.  One being garbage picking.  Or I should say “Junking.”  That’s the technical word for it.  But however you put it, what we did was pick through other people’s discarded crap.  What is that expression?  “One person’s trash is another person’s treasure?”  Yup.  That is totally true.

Now don’t go thinking it was real garbage, like empty milk cartons and dirty diapers.  No.  Once a month the town would pick up furniture, art, appliances.  Anything that didn’t fit in the trash can.  As long as it was out at the curb.

Why not donate to a thrift shop?  Because Germans have a lot of pride.  But apparently Americans don’t.  My mother acquired an entire set of china, a dresser, kitchen table and some very fine art while junking.  If I were a betting woman, I would wager a plate of nachos with some salt rimmed margarita’s that my mother still has that china.

The locals thought we had gone and lost our minds.  Hell, it was entertainment for us.  When my dad announced that it was Junking Day, I would jump up and down with glee.  We didn’t have much money so this was about as good as it got.

All I can say is DH is one lucky dude to have found me.  I am a cheap ass date.  But I just can’t seem to get him to take me Junking.  I don’t understand why.  I mean, come on.  It’s free.  FREE.  Need I say more?

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