I didn't buy this copy of L. Ron Hubbard's Self Analysis though I picked it up, put it down, picked it up, put it down, more times than you'd expect from an unself-helpful atheist like myself. The fox terrier just really threw me—I'm a big fan of The Thin Man's Asta—and in all the exposés I've read over the years about Scientology, I don't recall any references to those clever wirehairs. Obviously this was a vintage book yet there was no date—confounding! I didn't buy it; perhaps that was a mistake. Three dollars just seemed like a lot to pay for something that I remember being passed out for free in Times Square.
Holy crap. This guy. Right? How is it possible that anyone would buy a self-help book with this gleefully leering cover image? Even if it were about something as innocuous as gardening—and didn't have the icky pun for a title—I'd run away. But Your Erroneous Zones was apparently a massive best-seller; more evidence that the ’70s were different times indeed. Yes, this was at the same estate sale as the L. Ron Hubbard book. Obviously the departed was a bit of a seeker; here's hoping he/she found what he/she was looking for.
The seeker was also something of a hoarder. Who else would save an unopened pack of Carter's girls' ruffled leg briefs long after they could've possibly fit anyone in the house? Why weren't they donated to Goodwill decades ago? And yeah, my rule of never buying undergarments at an estate sale applies even to undergarments that are "new in package."
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