I got rid of loads this week. My car was bulging. I drew up outside a (nameless for fear of recrimination) charity shop and started unloading. It wasn't rubbish I hasten to add, it was all serviceable, clean, washed....possibly not ironed, as I'm not that charitable!
An 80yo Nazi met me at the door. Perfumed, with an inordinate amount of slap on her face. She may have been off to an evening performance of Priscilla Queen of the Desert later. Her pink shoes and dark brown support stockings were v. Mrs Bucket!. I was duly interrogated...
'Are there electricals in there,' she pointed a bejewelled finger at the bin bags..
'Err, no, I,I,I,...don't think so.' I racked my brains but couldn't remember stuffing the toaster in the bags...
Passing this test, I tried to enter the shop. No chance.
'We're not taking underwear now.'
'None in these bags,' I lied. I really don't think Ben Ten pants count!
I tried again, wondering if my car on the double yellow lines was being towed away......
'Any collectables; Jewellery, rare signed books, china?' She demanded.
'Don't you take those?' I asked, incredulous.
'No, we want those sorts of items.'
I don't think saying 'Yes, I think so,' was so wrong in this instance, one little lie and I was off, bin bag free. D'ya know, she didn't even say thank you!