The truth behind the photo...

16 July 2015

Dear Friend,

I love our family days out and started to post photo stories of our special weekends and times together. So when hubby said; do you want to go to the tourist market? Despite a long and busy day at work I jumped at the chance! I set off camera in hand, thinking; this could be a good blog post. It didn't quite work out as I pictured.

Here's the truth behind the photo story...

The market runs throughout the summer, especially for tourists that visit our sunny haven. It is filled with a variety of stalls ranging from clothes to household nicknacks and handmade jewellery. To be honest we tend to eat our way around sampling the fresh fish, poffertjes, cheeses, ice-cream and turkish pizza. This was the first time we had made it there since the start of the season and it was all going swimmingly until...

The little man spotted a bubble machine.

Hubby and I don't see eye to eye over bubble machines. The little man loves them, we must have had around twenty (I kid you not). They always end up in a sticky gloopy mess of old bubble liquid that has conjealed and jammed the internal workings. But for the few days that they do work, the little man is in rainbow, sparkling, bubble heaven.

Before the little man had got out of his mouth; BUBBLE MACHINE! Hubby had said; NO! But did I listen? No of course not as I had visions of the happy, smiling boy, playing in our garden. 5 minutes later he had one in his hand and was planning on taking it into school to show everyone. The smile on his face was worth the 5 euro, surely.

I knew the minute that I opened it that it was total crap. The battery holder immediately cracked and the plastic casing opened up as I twisted the bottle of gloopy liquid in! But when he pressed the trigger, it let out more bubbles than I have ever seen. It was amazing!

We were standing in one of the old narrow streets. Hubby was in line waiting for a Turkish pizza. When I looked up, practically the whole street, stalls included was filled with bubbles. The terrace opposite was full of people drinking soapy lager and holding their ears.

Unfortunately, I had failed to realise that the bubble gun also played music. It was a fair ground style rendition of Axel F, the type of tinny music that makes your ears bleed and sets your teeth on edge all at the same time. Hubby glared over his glasses at me and told the little man to give it a rest.

The bubble gun war began. Hubby and the big lad V Mummy and the little man. We bickered all the way up the street and all the way down. Stop, it's so annoying V leave him alone he's not hurting anyone.

Perhaps it was because I was tired and relaxed but I failed to spot the big lad's frustration. Before we knew it he had snatched the gun out of his brother's hands and it broke into 2 pieces. Hubby shouted at the little man, I screamed at the big lad and both boys burst into floods of tears.

But it wasn't over yet. No, in my temper tantrum, I frog marched the little man back to the stall and proceeded to yell at the stall holder about the dangers of selling badly made crap to kids. I managed to attract quite a crowd, all looking at the crazy english woman shouting Dinglish (half Dutch, half English) at the poor man. And no I didn't get my 5 euro back!

On the journey home, you could have cut the tension with a butter knife!

The little man with his replacement (better made) bubble gun.

This post was first published in July 2015. It was revised in March 2016 for the rookie mistakes linky.

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