on funding youth sport
with a dead belly dancer’s opulence
Alo, dear reader.
Parenting makes one do odd things - things that if you told me 30 years ago that I’d engage in, I’d have laughed you into the ground.
Currently, we’re involved in fundraising efforts for our son’s soccer team.
One of our fundraisers involves Value Village. The racket is simple. We get them bags of unwanted shit and they’ll pay us for this by the pound.
With that in mind, we’ve been clearing out not only our house but many others.
My nanny’s home for example has been the source of a lot of old dishes and linens that were not wanted by the family.
At the barn where our daughter rides, the former owner just passed away. All of the stuff that was in the house that doesn’t have value to the estate was being donated.
I’ve been there every weekend, filling up my truck with as many bags and boxes that I can carry.
There have been shoes.
There have been VHS tapes
And best of all?
There have been belly dance costumes.
It seems that the former octogenarian occupant had been rippling her tum tum and shaking her hips right up until the year before she died at the age of 86.
In restaurant terms?
She was 86’d at 86.
The belly dancing outfits were incredible. Sequins. Bobby pins, jingling coins, finger cymbals and beads.
Oh so many beads.
I could open a bead shop with the sheer number of beads that I found. The only thing stopping this venture is the distinct lack of hobbits that I would need in order to separate the beads.
Hobbits love playing with beads dontchaknow.
So meow, dear reader, I have the good fortune of fundraising to send my son to Spain by selling some dead horse lady’s belly dancing outfit.
And if you told me that as a 53 year old man, this would be my future, I may have said that it’s possible, just not likely.
So, here’s to living an unlikely life!
And from profiting from the death of an ancient belly dancer!
So if you’re ever loading some dead horse lady’s belly dancing outfits into your truck, know that you’re not alone. There are others. We’re living the dream, one unlikely errand at a time.
Stay greasy, you fools!