Flea

I'm not really a gal who subscribes to retail therapy, but the three exceptions to that are: yarn shops, fabric shops and flea markets or junk shops. Heaven. Really. Even if I don't buy a thing, I can spend hours walking slowly around these places, remembering the people in my life who might have something similar, or what I can do with another doily. If I'm lucky I might find something we need at a reasonable price (to be honest we're all maxed out space-wise now, so I rarely buy anything any more), or something I don't need but DO want and can afford once I've figured out where I can put it (I think I actually need amber glassware). I dream of having more space so I can fit more things in, and yes, a flock of sheep to justify me buying that antique pair of sheers (really, these fancies come over me and I'm on the brink of several insane purchases before I'm talked down off the ledge).

This time I walk away with nothing, but still very content with all the day dreaming that comes along with walking around these aisles. And you never know, one day I may go back for those sheers. And a few dozen other things.