I've had a few people ask if we're back from Sweden. The answer is yes--we've been back for a couple weeks. I know you were all anticipating a fantastic last blog from Sweden. So was I. I had grand plans of telling you all about our last days there (we spent them in the capital, Stockholm). But, alas, all our pictures from those days were accidentally deleted, and that deflated me enough not to post.
So, we're back in the wonderful town of Vermillion, which brings me to my story.
As you may have gathered, winters in Verm are pretty bad. You can't really do much outside unless you enjoy frostbite, and the only things that are open after 5 PM are Walmart and the forty-nine local bars. Since the two of us in a bar is about the worst case of fish-out-of-water you can imagine, we've spent many nights roaming the aisles of Wallyworld. Fun times.
Thus, summer is a welcome season. Brett and I spend most of our evenings taking walks or riding our bikes, trying to persuade our bodies that they're as young and fit as they were in high school, before school and work took over our lives. During one of these strolls, we saw a sign that intrigued us: "Farmer's Market, 3-7 PM every Thursday during the summer." A farmer's market? How hip and cool. How non-Vermillion.
So, yesterday, when we realized it was Thursday, we practically bolted out the front door in pursuit of this farmer's market. I was so excited. I was imagining rows of fresh fruits and flowers. In my head, I'm pretty sure I was imagining a slightly smaller version of the bazaars we used to shop at when we lived in Asia. I know, I got ahead of myself. How unusual.
Surprise, Rebecka, you're in Vermillion. There were a total of five vendors present at the market, selling exciting things like jams and dog biscuits.
We spent about seven minutes there and walked on, visiting a couple of disappointing garage sales along the way.
I had an idea of how to make this all better though. I suggested we go to the hip, new coffee shop downtown (it's open til NINE PM!), Cafe Brule. I had their signature drink and was very impressed when they brought it out along with a torch and blazed the top of my drink. Not sure what it was for, but it was cool. And the coffee tasted so good. I was starting to see the bright side of Vermillion again.
And then she asked it. The waitress, that is. The question we get nearly every time we go out to eat: "Will this be together or separate?" Sigh. Apparently even though our bodies are telling us we're not eighteen anymore, we still look like we're both twelve.
A question for all the couples out there--does this ever stop? Will waitresses eventually assume we're married, or even together? I hope so. If you know any waitresses, can you pass along a message for me? Look at the ring finger.