Nothing my husband does surprises me anymore. If it's free, he'll take it–even if he has to pry a cold, dead hand away just to pick it up. So imagine his surprise when the roommate of the dead guy invited him over to go through a pile of stuff. I can't be sure, but it felt a little bit like skid marks on my face as he raced out the door. "Hey!" he smiled, "The guy had a girlfriend who left a bunch of stuff at his place and no one has seen her in weeks. Want me to bring it home for you to go through?"
I have a lot of clothes. Let me rephrase, I have a lot of nice clothes! So the idea of sifting through the wardrobe of an X–girlfriend of a guy that I never met who just kicked the bucket just wasn't as appealing to me as it was to him. "That's okay, I'm good," I advised; but as he always does in a freebie situation, he promised to bring them home anyway, "Look, if you don't like anything, I can just take it to Goodwill!"
The "basket" showed up on my kitchen floor Sunday night. It was one of those cheap baskets that have holes all around it; and a worn out, plastic heel of a gray pleather boot was poking out of one of them. As I inched my way closer, I was overcome with a musty smell of a stripper that forgot to wash her Apple Bottom Jeans. Some of the clothes looked like they could have been his, and all of them reeked of low budget–not that there's anything wrong with that! It took me less than one minute to sort through the unwearable freebies that my husband was kind enough to share. And I quickly carried them out of the kitchen and into the back yard without saying a word.
The next morning, he ran into the house holding up a pair of khaki's. "Did you see these? They're from the LOFT®! That's a good brand, right?" He was excited, and I think if he could have squeezed his 53-year-old ass into them, he'd have kept them for himself. "Just get it out of here. I don't WANT anything!" I demanded, and pointed him toward the door. As he walked out of the room, his head was still shaking from disappointment. "She had shoes in there TOO, you know," he grumbled while escorting his rejected pile to the trunk of his car. But I was long gone... On my way back to a closet full of designer labels that most women would kill for.
A few minutes later, he returned wearing a hideous fudge-colored argyle vest. "What do you think?" he asked, with his chest puffed out like a middle-aged superhero. I thought of a million things that Icould say, but I decided to keep it short and sweet, "I think you should burn it." When he came back in, he was wearing a mint green dress shirt that reminded me of a Mentos commercial. The look on his face was almost as disgusted as the one coming over mine, and we both began laughing in harmony. I can still hear his words ringing in my ear as he giggled his way out the door... "Well, at least they were FREE!"
And he was right–for once.
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