Saturday, March 8, 2008

Let It Go: The Flea Market Mantra

While out running errands this morning, I stopped in one of my favorite antique/junk/treasure places "My Favorite Place." (I'm trying to find a small dresser for Harleigh's room, but not having much luck.) As I got out of the car and began scouring their outside tables, I saw a man dredging through a giant plastic tub of shells, obviously a find that belonged to me. I nonchalantly shopped near him, spying the cheap price, and hoping he'd give up and walk away. I even admit to following him around the market, hoping, hoping, hoping. He wound up buying it and I "could not let it go." It gnawed at me. My sister called and I told her about it. "Let it go," she said. I ran into two ladies deep within the rows of junk and gems, and one was telling the other, "Let it go." I stopped them and we began to laugh about our similar happenings, and our similar mantras.

At the last vendor stall, I chanced upon a huge glass vase filled to the brim with shells, cheaper than the one that got away, and with better shells. And I found this enchanting floral gravy boat, a handy place to keep my glasses, one of the umpteen pair I have in every nook and cranny of our house.

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