The Craigslist Killer

Monday we said goodbye to a good friend.

No, no one died.  But we did sell our Airstream.  And in case you can't sense the tone, I'm pretty bummed.  In a really bizarre role reversal, Joel was very cavalier about selling it and my sentimental attachment made it a bit of a downer.  The good news is that we sold it to a really nice family from Houston, TX that drove all the way to Iowa to pick it up.

Why did my husband sell his beloved trailer?  Because of Craigslist, that homewrecker of a website.  My husband, who just one short year ago excitedly drove home our newest toy, discovered the wonder and financial potential of turning a profit on items we currently own.  And I can't argue with the fact that we sold it for almost 3 times our purchase price, a deal that just might have bumped our bathroom renovation from "some day down the road" to "in the near future".

I picked out some tile, just in case.

But his glee in selling the camper that we lovingly fixed up has led to an "everything must go" mentality that inexplicably resulted in his Lincoln being for sale, along with about 15 other household items.  And in him purchasing a different truck.  So what is it about Craigslist that draws men in like a moth to a flame?  And the million dollar question-- why can't he sell things we don't care about?

Maybe he needs my help in this endeavor.  Because after all, as women we know that if we want something done right, we must do it ourselves.  Right, ladies?  So here are a couple of things I think my dear husband should share with the masses.  There must be some profit to be made in junk, right?

What kind of message does this sign send to my children?  As they run and toddle through the basement and on into the room housing a great deal of their toys, how are they to rationalize this large beer sign?

"Mommy, when I grow up, I'm going to drink Budweiser because it is the KING of beers!"

"Good for you, son!"

I've done my best to disguise the sign by stacking piano books in front of it, or strategically placing the light so as to block the view, but the fact remains that we are advertising alcohol in our home.  But if I really want it gone, I think I may need to take another approach.  Maybe it looks out of place because it is the only item of its style in the room.  This weekend I'll see if I can hunt down an old Trojan advertisement or perhaps a Camel cigarette poster.  Kids love animals, right?

Another thing I'd be happy to sell off is our old shower unit.  You know, the one that makes me physically cringe when I walk in the room?  Not only is this atrocity so painfully out of style that it brings down the quality of the entire house, but it's so physically dirty that I probably inhale more mold spores than oxygen with each attempt to clean it. 

I doubt there's a market for "used grungy shower", but I have certainly seen stranger things on Craigslist.  I have previously mentioned its pharmaceutical potential, but perhaps you didn't get the full effect from the exterior shot.  The built-up nastiness cannot be removed with CLR, vinegar or pure determination.  Not even inpatient rehab could fix this beast.

Maybe I'll get lucky and word of this blog will travel across the great expanse of the internet to one person with truly questionable taste that would offer us great sums of money for these things.  Until then, I'm doing my best not to become to attached to anything still in my home because I know that, if offered the right price, everything is fair game.

Except this.

 

And that.