For the record, Kaitlyn slept in our bed. Again. So I slept in her bed, since my migraine was keeping me awake. I figured I’d flip and flop around without bothering everyone else.
I am obsessed with going to markets. I always think I’m going to find some magical, local item that I’d never find anywhere else. Something I can buy and take home and put on display and tell everyone oh, that? I found it at this charming little market in Provence. (or wherever) But the truth is, I’m yet to find a market that even comes close to being able to fulfill that dream. Still… I dragged Bill and Kaitlyn to not one but two markets today.
The first was a food market. I knew I wasn’t going to find anything I could really take home. But you hear so much about the wonderful food in Provence… all the fresh vegetables… I wanted to see what they had to offer. It did all look good. There were a lot of butcher shops; they all were well-stocked with lamb for Easter. Kaitlyn cried because none of the fish places had prepared shrimp she could walk around and eat. One had mussles, but she turned her nose up at that French favorite. She settled on a potato thing: a baked mini-mountain of mashed potatoes. She liked it even though it was cold.
Then Bill navigated the streets to find our way to the weekly flea market. This is where I envisioned authentic old French things. They had authentic old French things alright. Dirty old stuffed toys (some with tags from a local fast food restaurant), dirty old shoes, dirty old crap in general. It didn’t take us long to walk past all that and declare that I’ll never learn.
Bobby would approve your leaving without a purchase. But unless you look, one never knows. At a flea market in Mexico, he said the same thing……unless you look, Juan never knows.