WTF wednesday #13

When Oldielocks was in K and 1st grade, I walked her to and from school everyday. It was one street over, a short little jaunt, and tho it sucked frozen polar bear balls in the winter, it was actually fun, very mayberry and June Cleaver like.

We had this neighbor on the corner, old lady and her man. They weren't married, both had kids that were 40 or more. Their yard was full of junk yard toys. Like a wooden dog taking a poo, with a bubble sign that said "No! No! No!." Which is good, because all the neighborhood dogs would always read her sign and take a doggie dump in the yard next door. Or so the thought. They had an owl mirror hanging in the tree, a skunk in their rock garden, geese planters, Bows in their bushes, a well in their driveway, really just a big fat Snow White meets Odd Lots and had a cheap plastic hot mess of a baby.

One day, as the hubby and the kids and I were walking home, she was outside. She stopped and asked us about moving, commented on the girls, etc. Then she wanted to show us something inside. Of course, my stranger danger PBS afternoon special radar goes off. Then again, I am 20 something, and there is no way she is going to chop me up and put me in cookies. That would be hell of a lot of cookies.

The inside is exactly like the outside. A cheap china store threw up in the living room, a dollar store was maimed in the kitchen, and an antique shop had started growing in the back room. She starts giving us a tour of her little house, showing us where she kept her clothes,telling me how she has to run *shudder* naked *shudder* from the bathroom to the third bedroom. Of course I am jotting down mental notes, such as, ...never get close to neighbor's windows for fear of catching a glimpse of this wrinkly, leathery naked lady with a white lion's mane streaking around her house, sidestepping the 4 china cabinets and toy train on the floor... somethingoffbeat like that.

Then it happens. The hubby leaves me with the white haired friendly yet loony neighbor, pleading something about snack time, and I am stuck.
By myself.
No way out.
Just me, floating around crap's creek, without a damn paddle or a boat.
Making more mental notes....divorce hubby for treason.....

She invites me downstairs, because she absolutely has to show me where they have card parties with their friends. It's such a cozy place, and she fixed it all up. Everyone loves coming over.
In their basement.

I go downstairs, ignoring the 3 different kinds of carpet remnants on the stairs.
Um......
to sum it up nicely...

a thrift store had explosive diarrhea all over their basement.

The front part is set up like a room. With a bed, and an ugly 50's table. As in you sit on the bed, and throw down a pair of two's. Or an ace of Spades. And gather up your loot of Mentos, or however they high roll. Perhaps bottles of Metamucil. I dunno. There is a T.V. and clothes hanging up. Her bras are hanging everywhere. And a horrific yellow and orange couch. That she probably bought when she turned 40. She has fake flowers in vases, you know, to make the place look pretty. Snazz it up. Impress the homies. There is posters of cats on the wall. And a pile of romance books.

We walk past into the second part, the diarrhea trickles into there, and see Mt. Cardboard box. It blocks the windows. She digs around, showing me junk and then she hands me a box. That she wants me to have. That she knows Hubby will put to good use. And since I am super polite and will not break a sweet old lady with white crazy hair's heart, I smile and accept it. She talks some more and I leave. I kissed the ground outside and ran away. fast. I swear it was cookie making time in there.

I get home, and open the box.
It
is
a
bunch.......
of.......


WTF!!!!!!!!



old, used t-shirts. Folded up neatly. One was in bright fluorescent pink and blue, screaming Daytona Beach, that was probably from Spring Break of '84. Some other crazy throwbacks. Towards the bottom are tons of white undershirts. Used. Complete with stinky yellow pit stains.
Perhaps from her ex husband. Or her son. Or she bought them at a garage sale along with all the other crapola in her house. The hubby is staring. And staring. At the pit stains. I think they are staring back. And then we both collapse into a fit of laughter.


At least it wasn't used underwear.