My daughter is a voracious reader. To feed the beast, I make a weekly trip to my local thrift store to search for kiddie lit and sexy, sexy old lady pants. Usually I’m searching for “Magic Treehouse” books. They have titles such as “Lions at Lunchtime,” and “Mummies in The Morning.” I’ll admit the task is a little bittersweet ever since my own manuscript, “Bonobos at Brunch,” was summarily rejected. Anyone that’s been to a thrift store can attest to the fact that it can be an eclectic experience. There’s some genuine quality merch (that’s asshole for merchandise) to be had. For instance, I’m never going to buy a T-shirt at retail again — thrift store have scores of brand-new ones. I picked up a barely-worn pair of Nike running shoes (retail: $85) for $4 this fall. I’m the proud owner of a serviceable lawn mower that I grabbed a few weeks ago. As most bargain hunters can attest, the fun lies in the hunt for that great deal, the feeling that that you could possibly find a mint-condition crock pot for $8 that some other schlub is paying $45 for new (and, with any luck, there still might be some soup in the used crock pot). On second thought, that may be some kind of disorder. But this is a judgment-free zone.

Of course, there is a flip side to every jaunt to a Goodwill or Salvation Army. A typical thrift store is teeming with items that not only make me wonder why they’re on sale, but why anyone actually bought them in the first place. I could go on, but I’ll bet I’m pushing your attention span for reading at this point. So, here are some pics n’ snark.