My friend Jeanette Harder works as a cashier for my daughter’s estate sales.  Last Friday, she turned on the road where a waving sign was pointing in the direction of the sale, looking for a house numbered 2008.

It was unusual that there weren’t a lot of cars, but she had plenty of time, parked and walked in the back door of the house--noticing that none of the items on the tables were priced--which was very unusual.  

Two women greeted her in the hall.  “Why haven’t these things on the tables been priced,” Jeanette asked them  “Is this the estate sale?”

“No, we are having a tea party,” they answered.

“Please don’t call the police!  I’m supposed to be working the cash register at an estate sale--I’m not breaking and entering.”

“How lovely,” one of the ladies answered. “Would you like to stay for tea? Do they need help at the sale,” one of the ladies asked.  “I’ve always wanted to do that.”  She wrote her name on a piece of paper and handed it to Jeanette who fled the scene.

I’m glad they didn’t put my friend in jail for trespassing.  She had the right number of the house.  It was just on the wrong street.