I'm prepared to pay you twelve. [aka B Versus the Wetsuit]

Preface:

I admit that I succumb to the siren song of garage sales and thrift stores. At least, I succumb enough to stop—whether I purchase anything is another matter. Luckily, I don’t like junk and I don’t like “stuff”. So, when I come home with something, it’s usually something that we have been waiting to find at a deal. Seriously, nearly everything we own is second hand.

Back when we were living at the Holiday Inn Express in CS, we were looking at the brochures in the lobby for ideas of things we might be able to do. Among the myriad of advertisements was one for the CS flea market! I’d never been to a flea market, but it sounded like a great way to entertain oneself on a Saturday morning, and, since our baby was turning 4 weeks old that day, river rafting and the like were out of the question.

I have been back to the CS flea market four or five times. I would have gone more, as I can think of no more enjoyable way to pass a Saturday morning, if we hadn’t been experiencing CS’s 11th coldest winter in its 115-year recorded history. That’s right, it’s STILL snowing weekly; we never got a fall or a spring. Anyway, a couple Saturdays ago, B came with me—his first trip back since the one last June.

B was—how shall I say—happily surprised at how awesome the flea market is. Apparently he had forgotten or simply not noticed last year. A kid in a candy store, verily, this time around. We each stop to look more closely and ask prices of the things that interest us. I say nothing to any of his inquiries or purchases, as I expect the same of him.

With that, I give you B Versus the Wetsuit.

A man selling primarily an entire van-full of boots and shoes (seriously, hundreds of pairs) also had a two-piece wet suit. B picked it up and asked a price. We all keep walking. Then B stops to try on and try out a pair of roller blades. E and I keep walking. B will catch up. After about 25 minutes, I call B to find out where he is.

"What's going on with the roller blades?"

"Uh...they're good."

"Where are you?"

“I decided to try on the wetsuit.”

I tell him where we are and hang up, wondering how on earth that wetsuit try-on is going. Is he putting it over his clothes? Is he taking off his clothes in the middle of the flea market? He had sounded a bit preoccupied, so I had not asked. Whatever. E and I keep walking.

About 40 minutes later, still no B, I decide to head back to the wetsuit/boot-selling man’s area. I get there. No B. What is going on here? I eye the van. Could he be trying on the wetsuit in the van? I call him again.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom. This thing is like a Chinese finger trap!!!! I’m rolling around on the floor and I can’t get it off.”

Yes folks, B was rolling around the restroom floor, completely trapped in the wetsuit. He needed a rescue. He mentioned the fire department because as he told me “you can’t come in here.” The fire department? Watch me come in there. I mean seriously people, the fire department? You want them to rescue you from a wetsuit on a bathroom floor at the flea market? We’re getting that wetsuit off if it takes buying both it and a sword to cut it off him right there in the bathroom. This is a flea market; there's bound to be some garden tools or something.

In the end, he was freed without the assistance of the fire department and without damaging the suit. He did not opt to purchase the wetsuit. He did, however, purchase the roller blades and several other items, including a drill press which he has since tasked me with selling on Craigslist. (“I don’t know why I bought it.”) Don’t judge him too harshly. He is still a novice.

Announcing

THE TULEY BABY GUESSING CONTEST 2010

Because, seriously, the only thing better than two babies under the age of two is two babies under the age of 18 months.

Into the second trimester, we are now beginning in earnest to prep E for the new bundle of joy that will soon be dethroning him from his ruling baby status. We encourage him to walk everywhere and we are teaching him how to treat a baby softly using a singing goat puppet. Mostly E just looks at us like, “Give me a break, I’m 10 months old.” We anticipate disgust when the baby turns out to be nothing like a singing goat puppet.

If you played last time, then you know the drill. Email, call, or comment your guesses. As for dates: mid September to mid October is right on time.

And to the winner goes a free ticket to the San Diego Zoo!!!! Yes folks, this baby will be born in San Diego (but hopefully not at the zoo). You must get to San Diego in order to redeem the prize (no word yet on whether you can stay with us—our living room floor may already be occupied by the resident Mr. & Mrs.). If you turn down this grand prize, you will receive some sort of free merchandise that we will be given when we become zoo members—perhaps something along the lines of a San Diego Zoo calendar.

Best of luck!