Duck, Duck, DEUCE!
In my quest to locate turn-of-the-century, Railroad Grade pocket watches (my expensive hobby), I’ve begun dragging my family to flea markets. The first time we attended a flea market, we were nearly killed by gusting winds blowing items off tables and collapsing canopies. The kids were bored, hungry, and afraid of being squashed by furniture older than their great-grandparents. GWE was a trooper…but that lasted for about 20 minutes, plus the time it took to eat a couple falafels. I decided not to push my luck and I figured I would come back the next time by myself.
Yesterday, I asked Justin if he’d like to come out for breakfast with me and attend the monthly flea market by our house. To my surprise, he said yes!
We left the house at 8:30, stopped at IHop for breakfast, and then rushed over to the flea market. When we arrived, Justin asked, “Why are we here?” I informed him that we were going to the flea market that I told him about yesterday. He rolled his eyes into the back of his head and cried, “NNNNOOOOOOOOOO.” Apparently, he wasn’t listening yesterday and he thought we were going someplace else. I’m not sure where. I didn’t bother to ask…because we weren’t going wherever it was. I finally coaxed Justin out of the car by saying, “You never know what we might buy.” (In all fairness, his response was pretty good. Justin said, “Why bother going, daddy? You’re not going to buy anything.” Usually, I don’t.)
With a sour look on his face and an extra-slow step, he held my hand and walked into the flea market with me. There was every sort of oddity, knick-knack, fake jewelry, and “unidentifiable thing collecting dust” that you could imagine. And then, Justin found the man selling bugs in amber.
Justin was totally grossed out and amused by the giant spider paperweights, scorpion pendants, and mummified bats. He even picked out a shark’s tooth keychain for his backpack. And then, we saw “It!”
Are you my mommy?
Perched on a wooden stand and covered in glass were two-headed ducks, two-headed mice (wearing bowties,) and a two-headed chicken. Justin and I marveled at the sight of the two-headed duck. It was the cutest, yet most horrifying thing I had ever seen. It looked like it came from “The Island of Doctor Moreau.” I kept joking with Justin about all the things we could do with it. Finally, I suggested we get it. Justin was deliriously excited at the prospect of getting this very strange two-headed duck.
I said, “Look, I think we need mommy’s input on this.” Justin immediately looked deflated…and the guy selling the two-headed duck didn’t seem that pleased either. Both of them were certain that this would be the sale-killer. Here is the text:
I ignored the text and turned to Justin. “I really think we need a two-headed duck. Don’t you?” “YES!!!!” he replied.
I paid for the duck while it was properly wrapped in bubble wrap and sealed in a box. The man selling the oddities handed Justin the box and off we went. Proudly, Justin carried his two-headed duck to the car with the care of carrying a Faberge Egg.
We’ve been thinking about name(s) for our two-headed duck. (Because he has two heads, we thought he deserved two names!) We’ve narrowed it down to “Tim and Jim,” “Bob and Bob,” “Batman and Robin,” “Huey and Dewey McDuck,” or ““Franken-Duckie!”
What do you think we should name him/them?