All right, I've kept this to myself long enough. Just over a week ago, my family purchased 115 (yes, one hundred and fifteen) cabbage patch kids
, with my knowledge and approval.
The purchase was instigated by my wife; I objected at first but then gave in. I won't fess up the amount spent, but let's just say it was way more than I would ever have thought they were worth, but (apparently) way less than they actually are worth. My wife's eccentric get-rich-quick scheme this month is to sell them on ebay (in case you're interested
), after buying them for dirt-cheap at a thrift shop whose owner had no idea how valuable they are. I'm the weirded-out and yet slightly bemused onlooker, but getting more and more weirded out as this thing pans out. We received a phone call from a strange, effeminate man last night, who insisted he was an itinerant truck driver from Washington state, and, in a sort of hushed voice, offered to buy one doll for over ten times what my wife paid for it, for his alleged 'sweetie-pie.' (Did you know ebay gives out your phone number? I'll never sleep at night again.)
So my life is consumed with cabbage patch kids. Our spare bedroom is overrun, and the kitchen table is no longer usable. The things scare me. They remind me of bloated corpses, with their puffed-out faces and eerie grins. Reputation is another concern. I've done pretty good so far at keeping this to myself. But five minutes ago someone I don't know very well asked me if I was the guy with the 'cabbage patch wife.' And he didn't remember who it was who told him. My guess is it's already gone through the office like wildfire.