Flea Market

I went to the Flea Market yesterday with my brother’s girlfriend and my mother only because I found it to be too beautiful a day to waste. After riding to Oldsmar and taking ten minutes to park, we got out and ventured into the world of the flea. After demanding that we walk every aisle and see every store (including the aptly named Sock Shop), I have come to a conclusion: The flea market is the greatest thing on earth. Ever.

Sure, it’s dirty. Sure, all it is is a bunch of guys named Cletus selling their crap. And sure, the mere notion that anyone would buy lingerie from such a place is appalling. But without the funnel cake induced sugar stupor that inexplicably takes over the spirit of all the slack-jawed yokels that mindlessly wander the premises arguing and saying “No, we’ve already been down that aisle,” America just wouldn’t be the same. No bargain basement used country music CDs. No really, really, ridiculously cheap knockoff sunglasses. No vintage Nascar paraphernalia. Life as we know it would be worse off.

Anywho, I also went to the Hospice store and bought a couple of shirts, one of which is red and looks like this:

Hah. Too bad it’s way too small for me.

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