A fine kettle of fish

Well, the first thing I want to say about my Saturday at the flea market is that it’s a fine kettle of fish when a friend calls you up and asks you to share a booth at the sale, and you stay up way too late getting your stuff ready to sell. And then the rain wakes you up at 3 a.m. and you can’t get back to sleep, but you still get up at 6 a.m. And then when that same friend calls you at 7 a.m. to say there’s no way she is going to stand outside in the rain just to sell a lot of old junk, you’ve already got your stuff loaded up so you have to go on to the sale without any help. Well, like I said, that’s just a fine kettle of fish.

Especially when that friend shows up at 10 a.m. after you’ve already gotten everything set up (and you’ve had a whole thermos of coffee in spite of the fact that there wasn’t anyone to watch the booth so you could take a bathroom break) and she’s carrying a big cardboard box full of cake mixes (cake mixes!) and says that’s the only thing she had time to gather up all week.

And then she tells you that she doesn’t need those cake mixes because she doesn’t eat sugar anymore and that’s why she’s lost 25 pounds in the last two months. And then to make matters worse she promptly sells the box of cake mixes to the very next person who walks into the booth!

Well, that’s all I’m going to say about it. I’m not going to mention the fact that I worked at the flea market when I should have been working on stories that had a Monday morning deadline. (I will say that the only deadline my friend knows anything about is getting her roots touched- up every three weeks.)

On the positive side, I sold almost everything I took with me, and came home with only one little box of my own junk. Plus, I didn’t buy anything from any of the other dealers.

Oh, and did I mention I had a truckload of fun?