Whatchoolikeowlfo?

Feb 21, 2010

Over the summer, Deborah fell in love with a necklace at a local flea market -- an intricate and ostentatious piece of costume jewelry from the 1970s made of metal and plastic that the saleswoman tried to convince us was worth the 150 dollars she was asking for it. She told us the designer's name -- which I now forget -- and gave us some exaggerated history about him. "He's known for his owls, and this one is a beautiful example."

Despite the annoying hard sell, Deborah loved the owl so much that if I'd been flush with insurance-settlement money at the time, I would have played big shot and bought it for her. As it was, though, both of us were flat broke, so instead, we just smiled, nodded, and walked away empty-handed. Honestly, being broke takes all the fun out of going to a flea market, so I'm not sure what we were doing there, anyway.

Over the weekend, we made another trip to the flea market (it moves to an indoor venue for the winter, but it's generally the same vendors) and, although I had completely forgotten about the owl necklace, Deborah certainly hadn't and when we came to a table with a collection of costume jewelry Deborah looked it over closely.

"I'm never going to find that owl," she muttered. "It's gone."

A mother and daughter were nearby, scanning the same table. "Owl?" the mother turned and barked suddenly, startling us both. "Whatchoo lookin' fo' an owl fo'?"

"Pardon?" Deborah said.

"Whatchoolikeowlsfo'?"

Deborah just shrugged and continued to the next table while I lingered behind and asked the woman to repeat herself again.

"Why she like owls?" she said, nodding towards Deborah. "I wanna know why she like owls."

"Oh," I said. "Who knows?"

"Hrm. She lookin’ fo an owl necklace, too," she said, nudging her shy, embarrassed daughter, who was probably panicked to realize she had competition.

I nodded and shrugged, the daughter half-smiled, and the mother shook her head.

"That woman was so rude," said Deborah when I caught up to her.

"A little rough around the edges, yeah."

"Why do I like owls? What kind of question is that? How are you supposed to answer? It's like asking someone why they like the color blue."

"I think she was just looking to us for some insight," I said. "She told me her daughter likes owls, and I don’t think she understands why. She was hoping you had an answer that her daughter couldn't -- or wouldn't -- provide."

"Is that what was going on?"

"Yeah."

"We should have told her that owls symbolize something perverse."

"Ha. Something that makes your eyes bug out like an owl."

Deborah didn't find the owl necklace -- not the one she saw over the summer, anyway. She didn't find another one, however, for a fraction of the price. "What do you think?" she asked me, "Should I get it?"

"If you don't, that other lady will."

"Sold."