This is not how one might expect to see me at a Farmer’s Market. But, it’s what I do. I sit. And stare. And wait for everything to come to me.
One might think I’d be all about the hubbub found at a Farmer’s Market.
But no. I sit. And stare. At the food on the tables. Like these mushrooms.
Or this gluten-free stuff. Like the bread this lady is staring at. (I’m not the only one who stares.)
Maybe if I stare at her, she’ll give me some. Let’s try, shall we? Follow me.
Come on lady, give me some.
Can’t you see how cute I am?
It’s not working. Really. See how seriously cute I am? Just a morsel?
Oh nevermind, guess I’ll just say “hey” to this big guy. “Hey big guy.” (That’s Southern for “hi.” You knew that, didn’t you? That “hey” means “hi”?)
“Hey” to you, too, big guy.
They sure have lots of stuff at Farmer’s Markets.
My peeps especially like the markets in Paris and Madrid. Like these. (See, they go to these places and all they bring me back are the photos. Not even a T-shirt. Or a morsel.)
Ah me. I’ll never get to Paris or Madrid. So I guess I’ll just sit wherever I end up and hope for the best.
What You Learned Today:
- I went to a Farmer’s Market over the weekend.
- I think that might be my last visit.
- I get all tangled up in my flexi-leash. NOTE TO SELF: Tell peep to take the short leash next time. Duh.
- I plop myself down in the middle of the pedestrian traffic and hold up the works.
- I do meet some nice folks, though.
- Maybe one day I’ll stroll the streets of Europe in search of fresh food and open air markets just for moi.
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