Dear Ebay,

The weekend was wonderful with you. I felt heady and happy going through my closet and drawers, looking for something to offer you. My Ebay... that's the special page you keep with my name on it, and it had been too long. It almost felt like old times, back around 2000, when I would give you precious little mementoes of my life. You would stuff them in your virtual pockets and gypsy around the globe looking for others who would see the wonder in them. Then they would have to cough up a wad of cash, buy an international money order, and send it to me from Kyoto. Or Queensland. Or Slovenia. It was all so romantic in those pre-Paypal days... I would wait at the window for the postman to arrive, then rush out to see who had sent me an envelope. I would sometimes keep the stamps from the countries I would never see. But I would be happy, knowing that there was a Deadhead in Turkey who needed every eighties issue of Relix magazine, or that a jazz musician in New Zealand would be playing a Count Basie arrangement from my copy of his half-century old songbook.

But, dearest Ebay, things are a little... different between us now. Does that pesky world banking system PayPal really have to follow us everywhere? And why do you charge me so much just to handle a few pairs of high heels (what was I thinking, ever trying to tart myself up like that?) and some vintage items which I have kept on a shelf until we - you and me, Ebay - would have time to be together again? It's like you put on a business suit and tie, and your pocket change doesn't jingle against your thigh anymore. I think that your friend PayPal is handling all your money. And I've heard rumors - tell me that it's not true - that you tell the IRS anything that they ask.

But I'm still hoping that things will work out between us, E. The final value of these seven day auctions will either reveal the old magic, or else I'll have to look elsewhere - my old friend Yard Sale has been calling my name. And Y.S. even loves the ugly, dollar store parts of my life - the plastic containers, the chipped dishes, the collection of t-shirts - things that you never cared about, Ebay. No, Yard Sale might not have the Big Bucks, but Y.S. takes all of me, as I am.

No matter where this relationship goes, Ebay, we'll remember the good times. We'll always have Australia. And the Yucatan. And Alaska... who would have thought that those 1969 Coca-Cola print pants would fly all the way to Juneau? Or my original VHS copy of Easy Rider? Good times, yesiree.

Love,
NTD