Boo decided to hork up a hairball at four-thirty this morning, so guess when I got out of bed today? When you have kids, you get up when they get up. When you have cats, same thing.
After each of us slurped up a cup of life-restoring coffee, we threw on some clothes and headed for the farmer’s market. Drinking coffee is mandatory for a trip to the market. Everyone you see there is drinking it. There are little huts all around the square where you can buy coffee if you don’t know where the dozen or so coffee shops in the cap square neighborhood are. Throwing on real clothes seems to be optional, however. You wouldn’t believe how many people are walking around in jammie pants and whatever you want to call those skin-tight leotard-looking workout pants.
The farmer’s market at six-thirty in the morning is a completely different place compared to the farmer’s market at eight-thirty in the morning. Later in the day I have to creep along the fence line with the cart so I’m not in the way or running over other people’s toes while My Darling B ferries her pies and veggies from the vendors out to me before plowing back through the crowd trying to get to the vendors again. Getting there earlier means we can walk around freely, going as fast or as slow as we want. I can follow B up to the vendor’s counter with the cart and not worry about blocking people or running over their toes, although there was still one guy who blindly walked into it as if he couldn’t see it.
We had all our veggies and were out of there by quarter to eight, too early to hit Saint Vinnie’s on the way home. I’ll have to take a ride on my bike later to scope out the books.