I am not a pin cushion!

My fingers are sore. Raw and sore. Twice a year, I pin and hang and tag and organize and search for items to put in the Picky Chick Cosignment Sale. Lots of girls have purchased cheap and convenient tagging guns to more easily tag their clothes, but I always forget to do that until it is too late. I go old school and tag by sticking safety pins through the card stock and onto the clothes...and oftentimes into my fingers. Before you can even generate a tag, you have to enter several bits of info to complete said tag. Since the hub is a lightening fast typing kind of guy, he's my data entry secretary. I call out the info and he plugs and chugs. These are my clothes to enter...just my clothes:



I have a small crop this year. I just kind of ran out of steam. So as I was affixing the tags to the clothes, the hub asked what label number I was on at the time. When I told him, he asked me to go back and check a certain number. Somewhat annoyed and wanting to be done, I reluctantly looked back to the aforementioned tag and saw this...read carefully:



Ye-ye-ye-ye-ye...LIVE ACTION! We have watched too many episode of Call of the Wildman and I made B generate too many turtleneck tags. Data entry finally cracked. I can't blame him.

I appreciate his helpfulness in this whole process. The money I make from this sale goes to pay for lessons, trips to the movies, trips to the safari and other family fun events. The man can do all the wonky tags he wants as long as he continues to help. And he's kind enough to get me bandaids when I puncture myself. At least I have managed not to bleed on the merchandise.

Back to tagging...yawn.
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