I'm a Lousy Chicken Stalker

So guess who's having a yard sale this weekend?

No, I mean it. . .

Guess.

Who.

Let me give you a hint. . .

I stopped by to see if there were any COATS for sale!!!!

Yes, my friends, The Perfect Coated One held a yard sale this weekend.

And this, we all know, was a stalker's dream come true . . . the opportunity of a lifetime. . . a chance to debunk the myth. . . peek under the veil. . . find some cobwebs in her picture-perfect life. . .

But - alas - there was only one problem.

I chickened out.

I first discovered the retail bonanza on the way to the market this morning, but quickly ascertained that my reaction time is not nearly what it used to be - for I just couldn't bring myself do something as crazy and unscripted as stopping at The Perfect Coated One's garage sale without butterflies in my stomach and sufficient prior planning under my belt.

What would I do? Nonchalantly wander about as if I do this kind of thing all the time? Casually check labels for size and maker of any clothing for sale? Pretend to be peering at the candlesticks while all-the-while peeking inside the windows???

And where was the Perfect One anyway?

She was nowhere in sight. And in her place stood the Granny-figure of the household (mother-in-law, no doubt - for I'm sure she never would have subjected her own dear mother to anything as base and lowly as a yard sale. . . )

No, The Perfect One was clearly not about. . . but a beautiful happy vase of sunflowers stood welcoming her garage sale guests.

And so I parked in the grocery store parking lot and hyperventilated.

While a strange case of hives developed on my torso.

And after I spent way too much money at the market (including $8.99 for my own cheery bunch of sunflowers) I put White Ice on autopilot and headed for the house with the white picket fence.

And for all of my time plotting (or should I say scratching) I still didn't have a plan.

And so I casually pulled up outside the house and left car running while I tried to peer around the corner of the driveway from the driver's seat. . . and suddenly . . . without warning. . . the Granny figure looked up from under her visor and stared straight at me. . . .and I froze!

Froze, I tell you.

I Froze!


Well. . . and then. . . I drove away.

Drove away without even a glimpse at the clothing rack. . . Drove away without even browsing through her books. . . or her VHS tapes (My God, there could have been an unwitting sex tape of her and the Perfect Hatted Husband in there and I missed my opportunity!). . . drove away without knowing what size shoes she wears!

Now I ask you. . . What kind of timid-lousy-no-good-brainless-complete-nin-com-poop-of-a-stalker am I???

What was I afraid of? Was I afraid to discover that she had actually read Ulysses? Or listened to Pavarotti? Or didn't have any old exercise equipment to shed because she faithfully uses it every day?

Was I afraid that even her cast-offs weren't good enough for me???

Or perhaps it was something else!

Perhaps . . . just perhaps. . . .I didn't need her hand-me-down clothing (Who am I kidding here? She's all of a size "6" while I'm well into double-digits.) Perhaps I felt secure with my own sunflowers and didn't need to stare at hers. Perhaps I didn't want to waste my hard-earned money supporting her out-of-control spending habit!

Or perhaps I'm just a spineless chicken. . . .