WEEKLY PHOTO #3

Tuesdays in Boulder Junction, Wisconsin (if you're not familiar, please see below) comprise of all the hicks and hippies coming together to sell 25-packs of socks and assorted nuts at the flea market.  It has been known to get out of hand- the locals have ended up on the ground in panic position over numerous occasions (sometimes it's the poisoned nut-apple-berry-mayonnaise butter, or getting bulldozed by the stampede of middle-aged woman fighting over a hummingbird/pinecone/musky emblazoned sweatshirt, with floor length tassels on the arm that reach the floor and trail glitter everywhere they go, that reads "Welcome to the Northwoods, care for some smoked musky?)  In the two weeks we spend Up North, Tuesdays are the only day when we briefly consider washing our hair, but never do, and put on acceptable clothing (normally consisting of our great-grandmother's old yellow-checkered hats and grandfather's wellies), but all the while still wearing our eternally moist swim suit tops and bottoms.  This weekly photo is to illustrate some of the items we like to buy at the Flea Market, and some of the personalities we take on whilst wearing these items.  R-Nasty assumes a deaf/mute man who has only been trained in the art of uncomfortably smiling and takes selfies to sell to help pay for the sardines and pickle relish he buys weekly.  L-Nasty likes to dress provocatively in a hand-crocheted bikini that R-Nasty's 80-year-old Polish neighbor Stella made for her, and shake her goodies for those sexy Boulder Junction boyz. She one day hopes to get a ride in a pickup truck, and maybe even get invited to go deer hunting.
When these two Flea-Market-personalities come together, alert the authorities and pray to the God of Whale Sharkers (GWS).

L-NASTY'S COMMENTS
First off, I would like to congratulate R-Nasty for her uncanny ability to find such blatantly sexual pictures of us as 12-year-olds. I seem to have made that face quite a bit in middle school. I thought all evidence was destroyed, but you clearly have a series of collages of my exquisite face hidden in a slightly worn shoebox hidden under your pillow. This blog is basically built-in birth control. I would just like to add a little detail to the descriptors of the sweatshirts. My personal favorites are the children's hoodies that have "Grandma's Lil Cupcakes" emblazoned across the chest. Our own (least) favorite elderly lady/Grandma once tried to buy us a pair, but it was  clearly meant to be ironic, as her distaste for us is matched only by her deeply rooted hatred for small animals and children. Another great love of mine are the pale blue sweaters that have small bears on them. These pint-sized teddies are almost always waving their petite paws at an even daintier moon, and there is usually some kind of super cool glow-in-the-dark feature and maybe even some bric-a-brac applique. My collection has grown significantly in the past years, to the point that I have had to stop sleeping in my bedroom, as it has become so full, and move to the tiny space under the basement stairs. My sweaters deserve only the best. While my therapist has misguidedly brought up the possibility that I am searching for human affection and motherly love, I just think I have mild hoarding tendencies.