Menopausal Marauders

Last Friday was the annual World's Largest Christmas Bazaar in Portland. I've been attending, with various and sundry friends and relatives, for a few years. Memory being what it is these days, I couldn't tell you how many years, but I do know that at my first bazaar I bought the balloon guys that hang in the rec room. So I'm thinking maybe eight or ten years ago. (Missing balloon picture)
Kind of freaky aren't they? That corner is a cobweb magnet. I should've remembered before I took the photo. Or at least climbed on a chair and dusted it. But they fitted my adventurous hot-air-balloon-chasing lifestyle of the day. And my rec room decor. So home they came, from the World's Largest Christmas Bazaar. Which will be referred to hence as TWLCB. Six friends, including Bethany, joined me on the expedition. Intrepid souls one and all. I mean, I take these things seriously, no wimps allowed on my shopping excursions. We spent four hours wandering the two cavernous spaces of the Expo Centre, spending our cash on such delights as creamy fudge and telescoping Santas. The fudge was one slice for $8 or 4 slices for $12. What is a fudge lover to do? Hitting the bargains at the Avon booth, hoping for some magical anti-wrinkle cream. Contemplating buying $220 Z-coil shoes so that I can spend more time meandering the corridors of capitalism without leg pain. I may still visit the store and spend the money, although my doctor questions the validity of their claims. She actually CHUCKLED at the thought of springs in the heels. Bouncy gait. But it feels so good! We were supposed to meet at one o'clock to go home, but Karen and I decided we needed another hour. Somehow Bethany didn't get the message and sat in the foyer for almost an hour, thinking that we had gone home without her. For some reason, I didn't hear any of her calls to my cell phone. So sad. I felt like a terrible mother. On the way home we stopped for Thai food, in spite of my protestations. I despise Thai food. I had orange chicken. Much yummier. But a slight detour brought us to this adorable cottage. I couldn't resist the juxtaposition of these photos. Hot women, one and all. Who could not resist making rowdy comments about the aforementioned detour. Yes, Lori may look all sweet and innocent, but let me tell you, she has a sublime comment for every occasion. And Karen, driver extraordinaire, who blamed my navigating for the detour. And many other things. On the way home, a final note of irony. This was before the sheer numbers of his infidelity had come to light. Poor Tiger.