My husband has a booth at the local flea market every Sunday. He sells other people’s useless surburban junk, which becomes someone else’s treasure. It’s old world recycling for the new world economy.
Usually I avoid the flea market. It’s crowded, it’s cluttered, and it’s shopping.
I drag my butt there twice a year, on Father’s Day and my husband’s birthday. But yesterday marked neither of those days. I went. Just because.
Here is my hour at the flea market yesterday, by the numbers.
35: number of minutes I watched my husband’s booth by myself
65: dollars I pocketed during that time
3: number of older men who told me I’m better looking than my husband
10: titles of John Wayne movies from a DVD set I read aloud to a gentleman who’d forgotten his reading glasses
4: ideas I gave an Italian grandfather on how to introduce his 17-year-old granddaughter to Shakespeare since school had failed to do this
1: story I heard from a Korean War vet about how he’d seen Marilyn Munroe in Korea
1: time I agreed with him that she had something Elizabeth Taylor did not
2: times I was told my husband had a good heart
3: people who told me our kids were adorable
12: toys my husband bought our kids while I was manning his booth
12: number of said toys my husband will sell next week, if I have anything to say about it
How was your weekend by the numbers?
Leanne, your the greatest. Thanks for the pick me up this morning. I love your sense of ironic.
Now I understand the mannequin collection. Also, I think I have to do sending off the boy to summer camp by the numbers. Number of bottles of sunscreen sent: 4. Numbers of sunscreen I anticipate will be immediately lost: 4.
Happy summer.
I hope you got to keep the money at least.
Ha! Wait, is this ‘compliment the wife at the expense of the husband’ bit a flea market thing? I can’t decide if I’m delighted or aghast.
We’ll do the Jimmy Fallon taping by the numbers: 7: gallons of sweat I shed during the walk from Penn Station to Rockefeller Center. 42: Number of times I wanted to smack Peppermeister for having such a bad attitude about commuting. 4,727: Number of times I wanted to make out with Jimmy Fallon. 6: Number of Roots (as in the band) who appeared high on the wacky weed.
5: the number of hours I spent (consecutively) at my laptop writing an essay on the basic “Dungeons and Dragons” rules.
30: my age in about 6 months.
I think I’ve said enough.
If I’d been (which I never would), it would have been 4 older men instead of three.
We have flea markets?
72: hours spent at RibFest
287562385726: pounds of pork products consumed this weekend
0: my desire to ever look at a pig again
This post totally made my morning!
Your husband is not only funny, but resourceful? That’s awesome. You are lucky to have him and should tell him so. We just don’t hear that enough! 😉
Your kids are adorable.
(And then there were four…)
Has he ever haggled with the Cash Cowboys fellas?