That Will Be $168.00, Please.
or only four long months until the Farmers Market opens
Okay, so I'm hosting Card Club this Saturday. Now before you get all crazy thinking we actually sit around a table playing card games all night like our Mums, let me clarify. There are seven of us gals who get together once a month to basically bond and catch up over food, liquor and vibrant conversations about everything and nothing. Every year we go away together (sans husbands) for a long weekend at a Lake. Every other year we take our sisterly act on the road to Marco Island, Florida. We call it "Card Club" because, really what else would we name it? It's just simpler this way.
Anywho, I went to the grocery store to buy some veggies for us gals to munch on, you know, to round out the party food pyramid... one part nutritious vegetable tray, three parts chocolate, salty snack goodness and liquor.
Holy crap! I cannot believe how expensive fruit and vegetables are this time of year.
Cashier: That will be $1,216.24.
Me: What? I only bought three red peppers, a zucchini, a pineapple and this pack of gum!?!?"
Cashier: Oh. I didn't ring up the gum. *cha-ching* That's be $1,218.24.
Me: Good thing I put the yellow-cake uranium back on the shelf
As I continue to hemorrhage money food shopping, I am reminded how much I miss our summer Farmers Markets during this time of year. They have the freshest produce (picked that morning) at the absolute best prices. The markets are a true joy of summer. We are blessed in Pennsylvania with lots and lots of local farmers. The market we shop at has a gyro/pita stand, Amish desserts booth, Italian breads vendor and five local family farms including those fabulous farm-boy Adonises, The King brothers. Wow.
The King family has been farming for generations. True to form, Lisa (the amazing Mother of this gene pool of hotness) bore ten children--the oldest a girl, the rest boys. I've never had the pleasure of seeing the oldest son, but the next two in line Pete and perhaps Tim are worth the price of admission to the farmers' market alone. They are tall, blonde, strapping. Fewer sites are as compelling as the dread-locked brother hoisting burlap sacks of corn from the truck to the table, shirtless.
Even my 87-year-old Mom, Big Mar, plays along. She was actually running cover for me to sneak a picture. How cool is she? Fortunately, their produce is as spectacular as they are. So there actually is a legitimate reason for stopping by.
I admit I didn't have the balls to actually go up to the boys last summer and ask to take their picture, so the photos aren't as ideal as one might like. However, you can still get the idea. I just don't have the nerve yet to walk up and nonchalantly say, "Hey fellas, do you mind if I fire off a few shots of the two of you so I can post them on my blog to allow other members of the female persuasion to ogle you in the comfort of their own homes?" without feeling like, you know, a creepy old chick. I guess I shouldn't feel weird, because eventually all of us ladies, young and old, make our way over to their section to chat up the King boys. Not only are these dudes hotter than Georgia asphalt in July, they're really sweet and respectful to their admiring public.
Farmers Markets...great for the pocketbook, easy on the eyes.