I've been in the mood to visit a good flea market. But, not the ones from my youth where tacky, handmade dolls, worthless baseball cards, stale popcorn and old motor parts were a plenty.
These Spring days leave me wanderlust, daydreaming about those fabulous California flea markets I've only seen on TV. I dream of finding some shabby-chic treasure, stripping away the paint, repainting it and then distressing it again. Or, finding some amazing antique mirror that is worn and spotted and burnished and lovely.
But, I'm poor and hate waking up before dawn...
I am the anti-flea-marketer.
1 comment:
My mom is the ultra-flea-marketer.
Or maybe just the ultra garage sale woman. She finds so much junk there and takes it home.
Ridiculous.
They're not really treasures, so much as belongings.
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