And on the eighth day they awoke, and the morning from the dawn unto noon they spent amidst the harvest of their home, threshing the grain from the chaff, and the woman of the house did ask unto the man:
“How much for the novelty candles, d’you think?”
And the man answereth:
“I dunno. A nickel.”
She gaveth a moment’s consideration to his council, and then she queried him, “What did they cost? A buck and a half?”
And he rolleth his eyes unto her, and deeply heaveth a great sigh, great as the winds that roil the seas. “It’s a yard sale,” saith he. “We’re trying to get people to take away our junk. Put a nickel on it, for Pete’s sake.”
And her reply was like unto his with her own eyes, and she narrowed them, tightly. “It’s not just junk. We can make some money if we price it right.”
“We oughtta price it to sell,” saith he once again.
“How about a quarter?” she queried unto him.
“Who’s gonna buy novelty birthday candles for a quarter?” he hastily spake.
“They cost a buck and a half at the store,” saith she.
“It’s a yard sale,” he spake, and testily. “You buy things for nickels and dimes at a yard sale.”
Lo, tho she seeketh his council, she did write that the cost of the candle should be two score cents and five.
And then she openeth a box of video tapes and asketh:
“How much for the tapes, d’you think?”
“Twenty-seven fifty each,” answereth he, and like a wise-ass spake.
And lo, she pretendeth not to hear him, and marked them a nickel apiece, three for a dime.
And so on, and so on, ad infinitum, glory be, hallelujah.
This Is Drivel 