Intestines: *roil roil roil*
Me: Okay, you can roil all you want so long as you don't make me have to run screaming for the bathroom during the Flea Market because I'm not entirely sure there is a bathroom there.
Bootsie: You're fucking with my routine, here, woman.
Me: I know, but I am much too tired to care.
Inestines: *roil roil roil*
Me: Ow, I take it back, stop roiling.
But I got up, and I went to market, to market to sell a fat flea, then home again, home again, $16 profit for me.
It's probably a bad sign when you get rid of $36 worth of stuff (especially at my prices), and you still have some left over (and then there's all the stuff that I'm not even trying to get rid of).
I begin to think that having more space in Iowa is potentially a Bad PlanTM.
But I sold the
Autumnal Equibox which is cool because I made it and so forth, and usually I just give that stuff away (such as the
Paper Clip Box that I gave to mom cuz it didn't sell and she expressed an interest), so it's like validation: a complete stranger is willing to pay five bucks for my craftings.
When you're in trouble, you can call
DW.