This morning I attended my second ever farmers market. Since becoming a girl-of-the-burbs, there's one just around the corner every month. YAY!
Or so I thought. Here's a summary of my experience:
- Buying from the farmers market is insanely expensive. How so? Aren't we 'cutting out the middle man' so to speak?
- For some reason, it's not until you've gotten home and looked at what your fifty bucks got you that you even pay attention to the $7.50 loaf of olive bread or $6.00 roasted garlic dip
- People are much more courteous/forgiving of prams (Charlotte, month one) than beagles (Shaun, month two)
- A super excited, happy dog is great at the beach or fully enclosed dog park. Not at the petting zoo, or orange juice stand
- Shaun fucking loves rabbits
Honestly, I blame James for making me go alone. That extra pair of hands would have meant I didn't have to hand my wallet to the farmer to get my money himself because I was busy holding down a squealing puppy.
But here's my thought. Is the 'farmers market' just another one of those things that seems so much better in theory than it is in practise?
Like house-parties where you drink cheap alcohol on an empty stomach, get stuck talking to a loud, drunk acquaintance and miss the last train home. Or wedding ceremonies that photograph beautifully, make great memories, but really are boring and awkward the entire time. Or family christmas?
As I get older (that's old-er, not old) I'm becoming more and more attached to the things I enjoy, not the things I'm supposed to enjoy. Quiet Saturday nights at home watching The West Wing. Lunch dates in the park eating noodles out of a box. Drinking one glass of really nice wine (instead to numerous plastic cups of the cask variety).
It's been a contentious issue in our home of late. But I've decided I'm happy to be 'boring' because I'm never bored when I've got Alison Janney for company, and if I'm out of bed at 11pm at night, something has gone horribly wrong.
Olive bread for lunch anyone? It had better be delicious.