Garage sale life

You know those yard sales where someone’s trying to convince you to buy a table with three legs, a jacket with no lining, and a great cassette collection though you have no cassette player?

Well, I’m the neighbor who keeps all that stuff in the house because it’s just embarrassing to drag it out to the lawn.

You might remember almost two years ago an adorable and indignant Peanut ruined my car stereo. It’s been hit or miss each time we’re in the car—sometimes we hear CDs or NPR and sometimes the speakers just won’t work thanks to the quarter still lodged somewhere in the CD player’s nether regions.

I’m getting fed up, though, There were weeks we heard 90% of what we wanted to. It’s now down to 25%, even with the trick Spouse devised where we Fonzie the passenger side of the dash to jiggle the quarter out of whatever contact points are blocked.

And you know what? “Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me” is nothing if you hear only 25%. “This American Life” is useless if you hear one sentence out of four. And, most important, “Science Friday” might as well be “Science Monthly” since we hear almost none of it.

Bah humbug.

(btw, spell check allows Fonzie but not CDs. Proof the coders are over 40. Or knows more pop culture than punctuation rules.)