Now, don’t get me wrong. If I had to choose my perfect weekend activity, I would choose to go to a street fair, an antique extravaganza, or a hipster craft fair, but in an ordinary weekend, going to Goodwill is almost as good.
A couple of weeks ago, Danny and I dragged my parents to a couple of thrift stores, and we drove past a new Goodwill, so I convinced them that we just needed to stop. This Goodwill wasn’t a normal Goodwill; instead, it was a Goodwill center in which they just dumped everything in these big bins, and people would fight over the items. They didn’t have prices on individual pieces; they weighed your purchases and you paid per pound. It was the most terrifying time of my life, but once I found the bins of children’s books, I was good to go.
In normal, everyday life, I hate to sort. I like going through other people’s stuff, and I like to organize my things, but I don’t like to dig through piles of old crap. But, give me the idea that I might find a children’s book buried underneath a stack of old crossword puzzle books, and I will dig all day.
Unlike the other people at the terrifying Goodwill, I would not hit someone in my quest to get a book, but I still enjoy the hunt. I like to imagine that my someday children will be incredibly proud of their mother’s ability to find thrifty literature or half broken toys at Goodwill, but time will only tell if that dream will ever become a reality.
Just pray I don’t turn my children into hoarders. That would be a bummer.