I can't quite put my finger on it but it seems to me there is a fundamental difference between men and women when it comes to garage sales.
Women are meticulous when preparing for a garage sale. They instinctively gauge the market, then carefully arrange everything outside, pricing everything individually or by the bin. They might even bake cookies as an enticement or additional sale item. And for women, let’s just say the “sale zone” is broadly defined.
A man setting up a garage sale (did I actually say that?) would simply establish a perimeter by stringing up some yellow "Crime Scene--Do Not Cross" tape across the garage entrance. Anything behind the crime scene tape is considered off limits.
Just to be sure, he might take a few additional precautions—you know, like placing a loud speaker in the driveway to play the theme from "Patton" while he sits out front in a rocker, with a baseball bat in one hand and a spit cup in the other. OK. So, some men would probably be doing that on a Saturday morning anyway.
On rare occasions, a man might be dragooned into "sale-ing" by spouses who need a driver. The woman can then devote her full attention to looking for those hard to spot garage sale signs. You know the ones—the five-foot posters subtly camouflaged with multi-colored balloons and ribbons, with three yards of duct tape to permanently attach them at eye level to every lamp post and stop sign.
It’s not that men have other agendas or that they don’t wish to bond with their spouses. After all, what could be more fun than looking through rows of platform shoes, old cosmetics and mismatched kitchenware—I mean, besides doing toilets?
Let’s face it; garage sales don’t typically register in a man’s cerebral cortex. However, his ears are finely calibrated to detect the sound of any woman—particularly his significant other—uttering the words “garage sale.” For example, when he hears, "Honey, have you seen the garage sale ads?" his early warning system is programmed for immediate preemptive action.
Making no obvious or sudden moves, a man’s very survival depends on his ability to deftly hide the garage sale section of the newspaper before his spouse can get to it. The bottom of the guinea pig cage is an almost undetectable spot, particularly if he has trained the guinea pig well. He’s also got to be ready with some convincing commentary to throw off the scent.
"No, darlin’; ain't seen ‘em. Besides, I’ve been plannin’ fer weeks to take care of those tawlets—I'll get to ‘em right after the Cowboys’ game."
