This weekend, Tyson and I went to the farmer’s market. There was a girl playing Taylor Swift covers, and I told Tyson that if he ever broke up with me, I would probably become a version of that girl (minus musical talent). I would travel up and down the country, singing songs about a boy who loved me once at whatever farmer’s market would have me. In my mind, I’m wearing a band t-shirt, my curly hair is wild and free. Maybe I’m not wearing shoes.
But really, who am I kidding? The gypsy lifestyle is not for me. Whenever we see someone who looks like they’re backpacking through the country (this happens often), I want to dump out my purse and give them all of my band-aids and advil. I worry for the Jack Kerouacs of my generation because I am not one of them.
After getting home from the farmer’s market, we converted our futon couch into a futon bed and watched Community until I thought my eyes would fall out. There was cuddling, ice cream, and lots of laughter.
Someday we will see the world, but for now we will watch TV.