On Saturday, we went to the market. I love this place, you can buy anything and everything and support local small businesses. As we were walking from stall to stall, buying bits and pieces, I stopped myself at the handmade cosmetics and discussed the components of the soap bar with a nice lady.
Mark went to the next stall where a southern America native-looking gentleman was selling handcrafted woven bracelets. The one you can have your name on it.
‘Will it be good for the teenage pest’ He asked me, pointing to the bracelets, and I said yes and turned back to my discussion. Soon after, Mark called me to the other stall to pick up the colour, and while I was standing there, admiring how fast the trader could make the bracelet, Mark trotted to the cheese stall and engrossed himself in a discussion about how mature was “mature” cheddar.
Yes, I know we are so a middle class that we buy handcrafted soaps and obsess over the maturity of the cheddar.
But moving back to the story. The gentleman finished his work, the bracelet looked really lovely, and he passed it to me for approval.
‘It’s gorgeous, thank you.’ I said and walked away toward Mark.
‘Lady? You paying?’ I heard behind me and turned around to see the trader’s confused look.
Well bugger, we stared at each other for a couple of seconds. Finally, I turned to Mark.
‘Love, did you pay for the bracelet?’
‘No, I’m here with the cheese.’ He answered, utterly oblivious to the fact he made me a thief.
I could not stop apologising to the trader. Imagine you made something, and the person who set the order picked it up and just walked away with the thank you note.
And all because of a burly man who can’t wait for the job to finish because he needs to have his cheese. I know murdering the love of my life is 5 minutes of pleasure and a lifetime in jail, but it felt so worth it at this very moment.
So compensating for his shortcomings, Mark took me for seafood lunch later. And he hates seafood.