It appears we have hit the high holy season for kids consignment sales around here. For some, it's the hap-happiest time of the year.
But I just can't get excited about those things. In fact, the idea of a kids consignment sale -- backed up by my one experience with attending one -- conjures up a vision that's not that far off my idea of hell.
It's not that I don't like saving money. I use coupons sometimes (when I can remember to (a) clip them and (b) bring them with me to the right store on the right day), and I would much rather buy a pair of jeans at a discount store than paying full price. But to me, dealing with the people and the chaos at consignment sales just isn't worth whatever money I'd save on kid clothes, which you can already buy pretty darn cheap – and new – if you know where to look and aren't one of those weirdos who buys Louis Vuitton duds for your toddler.
The main problem is I just don't like people in large doses. And I particularly don't like moms in large doses. Or their children. I will not tolerate being clawed over a pre-drooled-on Melissa & Doug toy, and I don't savor the idea of sifting through a pile of books that some child has pushed to the floor in hopes of finding a hidden gem. I can do that at home, thanks.
So sure, buyers can save money at a consignment sale, if you can stomach the crowds and chaos and all the stuff. And it's commendable, really, for the sellers to give old things new life instead of sending them to a landfill (though I would argue that donating them to a charity achieves the same goal with a more generous spirit). But none of it is for me. Y'all have fun.