Death Rummages

So, when you have your period for the first time in several months, and you decide to go off your antidepressants since the doctor keeps telling you that really, your dose is so low it harldy matters, think twice before pulling over at that "Estate Sale" sign.

Especially if the "estate" is a modest little ranch just down the block.

It's likely to be full of the pathetic remnants of some old folks' lives, from the extra baby crib they kept for grandchildren's visits, to the shiny, unused silver tea service she got as a wedding gift 70 years ago.

Sure, you might find a good hedge trimmer or lawn edger in the garage (he really kept the yard quite spiffy), but you won't ever be able to use them.

They belonged to a nice old dead guy.

And you will be haunted by that reminder every time you consider taking it out to whack at the overgrown flowering quince.

Which will subsequently remain overgrown.

And full of leaves.

And unsightly.

I think, to be fair to hormonally challenged women everywhere, we ought to change the term "Estate Sale" to "Death Rummage," just as a reminder of what we're really setting ourselves up for by walking in there with the other bargain hunters. It's only fair.