| Current mood: | Indignant |
| Current music: | Shivaree - Goodnight Moon |
The Strawberry Jubilee That Wasn't
Dear Westlake Farmers Market Bastards,
Listen, don't call it a "Strawberry Jubilee" unless there is in fact, something about which to be jubilant. Also, a "Strawberry Jubilee" ought to have more then one stand selling strawberries. A Strawberry Jubilee ought to have strawberry pie, strawberry shortcake, strawberry salsa and by God it should have a Strawberry Queen.
I had fully planned on being the strawberry queen, and had decided that if I was going to have to go to this Jubilee that I would be its monarch. So I donned my sweet red sundress with the little white polkadots, I constructed strawberry hair ornaments and a strawberry leaf bracelet. I even dug up a red and white dotted scarf to put in my armadillo basket. After 10 minutes parallel parking (Cassie's first, I'm so proud) Cassie and I walked across the high school parking lot to the Jubilee.
I was all dolled up as Strawberry Queen but Cassie, despite my pleading, would simply not wear my red vinyl devilgirl dress and specially constructed strawberry-leaf hat. Damn good thing too because...
We were surrounded by Yuppies.
They were everywhere. In unflattering capris and 200 dollar highlights, screaming to their children "Madison/Taylor/Hannah, You stop picking your nose/kicking that lady/eating all mommy's valium!" They dialed their cellphones with porn-star french-tip nails and parked their SUVs crooked.
Panicked, I turned to Cassie and whispered "We're not in South Austin anymore, Toto"
I was glad we took Cassie's truck because I would have been ashamed to take the Volvo. I had wondered about the quality of Jubilee available in Westlake, but Cassie seemed excited (she had some sort of sweet corn festival in her Colorado hometown, and is vehemently in the pro produce-inspired festival camp). Of course, this farmer's market was about a dozen stands in total. About a third were selling "Artisinal Cheeses" and seven-dollar loaves of bread, another third offered pickled okra for 12 dollars a jar (hot sauce was a bargain at 8.50) the remainder displayed soy candles, cruelty-free soaps and, tucked in almost to the back was the one stand with any sign of strawberry-al leanings. A cappuccino stand, with a tray of individually boxed wedges of storebought spongecake topped with "whipped topping" and one, lonely, gelatinous strawberry.
After being ankle-bitten by what must have been the third Eddie Bauer stroller in a span of 30 seconds, Cassie, clearly disappointed, decided to blow that proverbial popsicle stand and I followed like a puppy on a string.
I looked at her and smiled. "You know what Cass? You are too cool for this mess" I think she smiled and told me that it was the first time that had ever been said to her, about anything.
We jumped into the truck and as Cassie started it, her red hair curling wet on her forehead like a frustrated angel, she said "Let's get back south to the river, where we belong."
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