Do you remember the story of the man who traded his way from a paper clip to a house? He then wrote a book about it called One Red Paperclip. He's got a blog devoted to his story. He is like his own little cottage industry.
While I've not done anything as grandiose, I did make a heck of a trade yesterday while walking el mutto. I traded a bag of poop for these gorgeous flowers:
Allow me to explain. I am an atomic fireball fanatic. You know what those are, yes? Those very hot and spicy miniature jawbreakers have been around for a long time. Like the paperclip man, they even have their own website. I spent many a day in my childhood gnawing on those, and about four months ago, I stumbled upon them again after many years without them. One chipped crown later, I'm still into them, although I try to restrain myself from biting them.
I share them with people I encounter. What kind of people do I regularly encounter nowadays? Fellow dog walkers, taking their purebreds down to the field to run off energy. My very own el mutto, Corrie, gets to play with the upper crust of dog society on the great field equalizer. Meanwhile, I chat with owners and dole out fireballs.
Antony is the owner of Ben, the dog which looks like a standard poodle but is actually some outrageously expensive frou-frou dog. [I'm too lazy to surf to find out the breed's name. Feel free to do so and let all of us stand in awe of your intellect.]
Antony is a wuss when it comes to fireball eating. He has to take it out of his mouth because it gets too hot. I am Antony's fireball supplier. I gave him and his children a handful a few weeks ago. I believe only the 11-year-old son is not a wuss fireball eater.
Antony and his wife do flowers for weddings. Walking past their house yesterday morning, he called me over. Did I want any flowers, he wondered, since he was set to get rid of some. Noting that I was carrying the chuck-it stick and a bag of poop, not to mention holding Corrie's lead, I declined.
So what happened then?
He traded me the flowers for the dog full of poop. And off we went on our way home to get the dahlias into some water. [Those of you who know me are now laughing very hard because you know the truth: I'd have rather had the bag of poop that I could toss in the trash once I got home. I am not now nor have I ever been a flower person. Just. Not. Me. But I'm not telling strangers bearing gifts that!]
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