It was only thanks to inclement weather that I yesterday avoided attending the new Brooklyn Flea Market.

Jess, who has an impeccable eye for all things fashion and furniture, and can quickly pick out gems hidden in long racks of crap, loves flea markets, thrift and vintage stores.

I, on the other hand, try as a general rule to avoid places that reek of mothballs and armpit. Walking down scented aisles, I can’t help but think that whomever each vintage dress previously belonged to is probably now long since dead, and quite possibly from some terrible skin-borne affliction transmissible by their old clothing.

So, in short, I’m not a huge fan. But, in my best attempt at being a good fiance, I come along. It’s an effort only partially appreciated by Jess, who (correctly) accuses me of hovering over her the entire time. Not, as she thinks, because I’m trying to get her to leave, but instead because I’m trying to gain some safe harbor from proximity to the only person in the place for whose hygeine habits I can personally vouch.

Still, odds are good, once the weather warms, we’ll be Brooklyn bound after all. I just hope that, in the weeks between, I’ll find some good leads on a cheap Hazmat suit.