The Divorce Garage Sale – GREATNESS
It’s summer in Michigan, which means three things: construction cones, Tigers day games, and garage sale signs popping up like dandelions on every corner. Here in Waterford, my weekends aren’t…

It’s summer in Michigan, which means three things: construction cones, Tigers day games, and garage sale signs popping up like dandelions on every corner. Here in Waterford, my weekends aren’t measured in hours—they’re measured in how many times I yell, “Hey babe, there’s a sign!” from behind the wheel. But I've never seen a "Divorce Garage Sale" before...
See, my wife is the true garage sale warrior in the house. I’m just the spotter. My job is to slow-roll neighborhoods, keep my eyes peeled for hand-drawn signs stapled to telephone poles, and call out coordinates like we’re running a tactical op. Once we’re there, she’s in her element—negotiating like she’s on Pawn Stars, arms full of mystery boxes and mismatched mugs. I mostly just hold the cash and wonder how many Crock-Pots a household actually needs.
But even with all the front-yard treasure hunts we’ve seen in Oakland County, nothing prepared me for the garage sale going viral out of Cawston, British Columbia. I saw the flyer making the rounds online—first on Facebook, then on the Delta Optimist website—and instantly thought, “Now this is one my wife would absolutely drive across the border for.”

It’s being dubbed the Divorce Garage Sale, and it’s hosted by a woman named Su Claire. She’s turning heartbreak into humor—and maybe even a little profit—with a yard sale that reads more like a stand-up set than a Saturday morning errand.
Right from the top, Su sets the tone:
"Live entertainment from a bitter woman with three donkeys and a flock of hens with better communications skills than my ex. Cash, credit, debit and wine accepted … no low ballers already married one.”
That’s gold. You don’t see that kind of copy on a Waterford sandwich board.
But it’s the list of items that really seals it. Each one is dripping with sarcasm and the kind of catharsis only a garage sale (or a good therapist) can provide:
- Harley collectables (once investments, now paperweights with wheels)
- Candles (that smell like coping mechanisms)
- A BBQ (not the only thing on the property he gaslighted)
- A kayak (waterproof, unlike my mascara)
- A chainsaw (for cutting wood or emotional ties)
- Old farm gear (rusty, reliable and still more useful than he ever was)
- Mugs that say “live laugh love” (they lied)
- Crock-Pot (still loyal, still hot – can't say the same for him)
Now that’s how you do a clean-out. Not just moving stuff off your lawn—but moving on with your life and letting everyone know you’re not doing it quietly.
Here in Waterford, we’ve had our share of creative sales. Themed ones. Multi-family ones. Even the occasional estate sale that turns into an impromptu block party. But this? This is garage sale as performance art. This is therapy with a price tag. This is “Eat, Pray, Price It to Move.”
I hope Su sells every last item—especially the “Live Laugh Love” mugs, which, let’s be honest, have been lying to all of us for years.
In a summer full of backroad detours and impromptu shopping stops, this one takes the crown. I’ll keep spotting signs for my wife, of course. It’s part of the deal. But next time I see a garage sale flyer taped to a light pole, I’ll be hoping for a little more attitude, a little more honesty—and maybe, just maybe, a chainsaw labeled “for emotional ties.”
Su Claire, if you ever bring this act on tour, Waterford’s got a driveway waiting for you.