“Panties!” the middle-aged woman exclaimed, working her way against the stream of incoming buyers and gawkers. A couple stepped aside when she grumbled, “No respect at all!”
The petite woman carefully placed her estate sale purchases in the back of her prized green 1957 Chevrolet truck. She flipped open a velvet blue lace fan and cooled herself. She wondered who in her right mind would want to buy a dead lady’s panties.
“Hey Midge!” shouted her friend who called herself Lara today. Midge strode over to pick up the bags and baskets beside Lara.
“Lots of great stuff,” Lara said. “Did you see that Whitman copy of Spin and Marty?”
“I would've bought it, if it wasn't falling apart,” said Midge.
Lara nodded. “They should’ve just dumped it. Quite a lot of stuff they should’ve burned or taken to the dump.”
“No kidding,” said Midge. “They were even selling. . .”
“You’ll never guess what I bought!” Lara said at the same time.
“What are you going to do with a dead woman’s panties?”
The bright red haired wigged woman giggled. “They’re not what you think, Midge. They aren’t the sensible grandma panties at all.” Lara opened a bag. “Look at this beautiful handcrafted lace.”
“Are they brand new?”
“Then no, thank you,” said Midge, opening the door to her truck.
“Party pooper,”said Lara.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your knickers in a bunch. There’s a barn sale up the road, I hear.”