Ma and I are getting good at this marketting business. Or, at least, we were until we decided to do one in July, in Canberra, in minus conditions. I’ll tell you what, though, it was a good incentive for buying children’s beanies. The amount of parents who brought their kids out without a beanie on their head when the temperature is reading -0.8C at midday, was a little scary. Good thing they found our stall, because we sold nothing else, really, except for those beanies.
So, instead of blathering about the annoying bits and bobs, and the crazy lady who accused us of overcharging (we epically undercharge, so that was confusing) I’ll share one market story with you today, because this was adorable.
It was coming to the closing time of the market, and the already small crowds were dwindling even more. One mother wanders over to our stall, leaving her children at the stall across which is covered in dolls. “Sweetie, come over here!” she calls.
She beckons the eldest of the two over, who cannot be more than 5. This blonde haired little girl has this giant basket bag over her shoulder, sitting inside is a small pink wallet and two my little ponies. Everything a girl needs. Her mother points out a little coin purse I made a while ago.
“How much is that?” Ma asks me.
“Five dollars,” I respond. I stand up from my comfy camp chair of awesome, and make my way to the front of the stall. The little one is looking at the coin purse with concentrated effort. She reaches over to pat the little girl’s bags lovingly. “Hello sweetie,” I say.
“Hello,” she responds, but she’s not looking at me at all. She has a purchase to make.
“She has some money to spend,” her mother adds, a highly bemused expression on her face. I can tell this has been a long day of the little one trying to work out what she would spend that money on.
“How much is that?” the little one asks, pointing to the pink and green bag.
“Ten dollars,” I say. She sighs. It’s a big sigh. There’s serious shoulder drop and hanging head.
I crouch down to her level. “How much do you have, sweetie?” I ask. She has moved on to the hair clips and head bands.
“Five dollars. Can you sell that bag for five dollars?”
“I can’t,” I say with exaggerated care. “Do you like the coin purse?”
“Oh yes, I just don’t think it’s good value to just have one thing,” she asserts.
“Well, that’s certainly a good point. Maybe I can do something about that for you.” I reach across the table and grab my display frame of hair clips. “How about this, if you want that coin purse, I’ll throw in a hair clip for you for free.”
“Oh,” she says, like the clever connoisseur she is. She investigates the hair clips with a cunning eye, and selects the set of white bows. “Yes, I think that will be quite good.”
“I think so, too,” I say, marvelling at a child who articulates brilliantly and uses ‘quite’ with ease.
She carefully hands over the coins; via her mother as she ponders the silver pieces, not sure how to make them a full dollar. She gracefully places the coin purse and hair clips in her giant basket bag, and then dashes off to her father and little sister, purchase complete.
Mere moment later, I am joined by the little sister and her mother again. The three year old insists on her desire to have a flower by pointing at the hair clips. “You want a clip like your sister?” her mother asks.
“Flower,” the little sister says.
Her mother takes the flower hair clips, rather than the bows, and places it in front of the little sister, indicating for her to choose.
She points beyond the clips to the headbands. “Pink!” she announces. It’s the pink flower headbands she wants more.
The last I saw of that family was a little sister, whipping off her beanie to put on the headband, running off down the lane. Her older sister was walking more precisely behind, hugging her basket bag close and peering at the items in the other stalls with a careful eye.
And that is why I do my market stalls. Because those kids are awesome.
Lastly, though, I catching up on all my friends and family requests for knitted items now. Here’s a sneak peak of the wool I’m going to use for Bec’s fingerless mittens. They are going to be well awesome, I’ve decided.