Hummels are Horrible

They started out normal. 

I should have started not at that point in the story.  I cant even walk in a straight line, so its completely un-startling that the only way I can figure out how to start a thought is to toss you into the metaphorical abyss of my story and yell ‘swim bitches!’

Which, I might add, is cruel and unnecessary.  Like kitten sweaters and booster shots.
My mom decided she was ready to start her very own eBay business a few weeks ago.  Also, my spell check automatically recognizes that particular word… huh…  It even capitalizes the B for me.  How long has eBay been a recognized word? 

Anyway, this all came about because my mom has been watching hoarders on several different television channels and has become convinced she is well on her way to becoming a hoarder.  She is literally living in fear that in a few years someone will come into the house and die under an avalanche of stuff she has yet to collect.  Then she will have to have someone clean her house and, just like on TV, they will discover a mummified cat body that crunches when they shovel it up off the varnished floor.  Which makes perfect sense because she owns exactly zero cats and doesn’t have enough stuff to merit and awkward pile in the corner, much less a full fledged avalanche of repressed emotions.

So, since we moved recently, all her and my dad’s stuff was corralled into a series of cardboard boxes, she picked out everything that she wanted to sell, and I have been running her eBay business ever since.  She does take the packages to the post office, because I cannot drive my van this close to DC without having an emotional breakdown at least as serious as the end of the dinosaurs.

One of the most delightful portions of my eBay experience is definitely the awesome description writing portion.  Nothing is more stupendous, except watching paint dry or grass grow, or getting major dental work done.  But other than that, and everything else is the world, just short of genocide and the sun going into red giant and deep frying earth, is elicits less strong motion from me than writing hummel descriptions.

This is why, if you were to find my mother’s account, you could document my slow descent into madness.  As I said earlier, they started out normal.

I documented colors, decorative schemes, widths and heights, faults, flaws, fairy dust, gnawing damage, everything.  And somewhere along the way, I completely forgot what the real point of this eBay business was.  Apparently, it is not a platform for me to say irrational things, which was also un-startling.

My last eBay description read “this adorable little Goebel kitten figurine is just waiting for you to take it home and so it can charm you from its perch on your shelf.”
Once I got done rolling around the kitchen floor at how hilarious I found myself and how frantically emotional I was getting about my boredom, I came to a realization.  I had posted enough of my mother’s things to merit free posting so I slapped that sucker up into the antique figurine section faster than it takes Dumbledore to tie together a plot.