KATE LANGBROEK

Sunday Herald Sun - Stellar - - Contents - Kate co-hosts Hugh­esy & Kate, 4–6pm week­days, on the KIIS FM Net­work.

de­fends the role of the garage-sale “vul­ture”.

Things are al­ways more com­plex than you think they are. Take mos­qui­toes. Please. I de­test them, you see, with their rot­ten nee­dle-noses and their buzzy-buzz-kins, and the way they come out just when you’re sit­ting in the dark look­ing at the stars or try­ing to sleep. They love me, but I hate them, and I al­ways be­lieved the world would be bet­ter off with­out them.

Then I read a sci­ence ar­ti­cle that said mos­qui­toes break down some­thing like 60 per cent of all the car­casses in the world. Not flies. Not worms. Mozzies. With­out them, ap­par­ently, the world would be un­in­hab­it­able. So now I can’t even wish them dead.

I was re­minded of this the other day. We were all in our stu­dio, get­ting ready for the jolly ra­dio show we do ev­ery af­ter­noon, when my funny friend Hugh­esy passed over his phone to show me a pic­ture his wife Holly had just sent him.

It was of a yel­low sign taped to a tree. On it was writ­ten: “EX-BOYFRIEND CAUGHT CHEATING. EV­ERY­THING MUST GO SALE!” Un­derneath was the ad­dress and that com­ing Sun­day’s date. And the whole sce­nario was so un­ex­pected and in­trigu­ing, I laughed and said: “I am def­i­nitely go­ing to that garage sale.” The rest of our team passed the pic around, and then we spec­u­lated about what would be for sale. The con­tents of their apart­ment? Old CDS? Free weights? It seemed to me there prob­a­bly wouldn’t be much more than some cheater’s clothes, but I still re­ally wanted to go. So did most of us. Sacha, our pro­ducer, was keen as mus­tard. I mean, how fas­ci­nat­ing – this un­known girl (we as­sumed) had suf­fered the ul­ti­mate act of hurt and be­trayal, but still had the juice to turn it into a life-af­firm­ing act. To sell a cad’s stuff. So venge­ful! So raw! (I was also kind of hop­ing he might turn up on the day.) And then our as­sis­tant pro­ducer, Mis­ter Dar­cie (who is a lovely girl), said: “Wouldn’t it be kind of weird, buy­ing their stuff?” And we all ummed and aa­hed, and the si­lence was bro­ken by Hugh­esy say­ing: “Of course it would be weird!” Then he called me a vul­ture, and ac­cused me of want­ing to feast on the car­cass of some­one’s deady-bones re­la­tion­ship, and it was so funny and ab­surd we all laughed and laughed. Then I re­mem­bered I had to take my son to bas­ket­ball train­ing that morn­ing, so I couldn’t go to the garage sale any­way. In fact, I for­got all about it. Then, on Sun­day morn­ing at 9.42am, my phone pinged. It was a group text from Sacha: a photo of a young cou­ple with enor­mous grins on their faces. Next to them was a neat dis­play of clothes, shoes and old lug­gage. The mes­sage with the photo said: “No cheating ex! Just a good mar­ket­ing strat­egy by Justin and Heidi.”

I didn’t know whether to ap­plaud or be ap­palled. I mean, ge­nius, right? But sly ge­nius. Evil, al­most.

Hugh­esy was thrilled. “Nice,” he wrote. “Vul­tures de­serve to be conned.”

Vul­tures, I have to in­form him, play an im­por­tant role in the ecol­ogy of garage sales. With­out us, who would take the old stuff? The world would be a mess.

Vul­tures are im­por­tant. They are of more use, for in­stance, than snakes.

Vul­tures play key role. With­out us, who would take the old stuff?”

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